


Keepsake

by Squid_Ink



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, C-Section, Catholic Church - Freeform, Catholic wedding, Christmas, Christmas Special, Christmas Tree, Christmas eve wedding, Culture Shock, Drunk Steve, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Luxury, Mild Religious Overtones, Nat has a box of baby things, Nat has issues too, Nightmare Before Christmas - Freeform, Ornaments, Peggy dies, Steve praying, These chapters seem to get longer and longer :/, Wedding, hallmark, happy new year, high end jewelry, keepsake ornaments, kinda slow burn because its across several years, longing for a child, malls, midnight mass, mistletoe kiss, prenatal anxiety, sad feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 90,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink
Summary: Christmas had always been a special time for Steve, and now he faces the daunting task of building new Christmas traditions after being frozen for seventy years. Natasha is by his side through it all.





	1. The First Christmas - 2012

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beckyg10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckyg10/gifts), [toonanimals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toonanimals/gifts), [Majelic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majelic/gifts), [evanzski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanzski/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Little Things in Life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15850920) by [Squid_Ink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink). 



Malls overwhelmed him. The size, the brightness, the echoing voices and the plethora of stores. Back in his day (he hated that phrase, it made him sound old), such lavish displays of luxury were unheard of; now it was normal. The twenty-first century had an overabundance of food and money. Sure, he read about the crash in the 70s and the Recession in the late 2000s, but nothing compared to the sparse nature of the Great Depression. The grim bleakness of a populace looking for work and finding none, wanting food and finding their pantries empty. He read how the war saved the country from total economic failure. He supposed war created a demand for supplies, that demand created jobs, which created money. Still, such avarice on display bothered him. "You okay?" Natasha asked, leaning against the glass and metal railing on the second floor. They were at a mall in Brooklyn, the name she didn't remember, and he didn't bother to look up.

Giant plastic Christmas decorations hung between the walkways, with lights blinking merrily, the radio played Christmas music (half he didn't recognize). In the main hub of the mall was a large fake Christmas tree with a festive village around its base and a red winged back chair; there Santa Claus sat to accept Christmas wishes from children (and so parents can get their child's picture with Santa). Many of the smaller children were dressed in their Sunday best, their faces screwed up in fear and tears rolling down their chubby cheeks as they sat on Santa's lap screaming for their mothers, who cooed and waved while the assistant (elf) took a few pictures. He told Natasha to remind him to never subject his future children to such horror. She gave him a cheeky grin in response.

This was his first Christmas out of the ice. His first Christmas in an uncanny world: strange yet familiar, alien yet home. He didn't know what he'll do for Christmas day, so far he'd figured he'd go to Midnight Mass at the nearby Catholic Church. At least after seventy years that was still the same. He found himself going to church much more now (especially after the Chitauri), the familiarity of Catholic Mass brought him an odd sense of comfort and peace. The Bible hadn't changed. Communion was still the same. He wished he still had his mother's bible and rosary, but he lost those things long ago. "Steve, you okay?"

"Yeah," he said, leaning back, surprised that Natasha was so close to him. "Yeah, Romanoff, I'm fine."

"I told you, call me Natasha. No need to stand on ceremony," she said and began leading him through the crowds. Only she knew their destination and he was content to follow. "You going to Stark's Christmas bash on Christmas Eve?" she asked over her shoulder. He looked at the people, eyes widening whenever he saw a group of teenagers with hair the colors of the entire rainbow. Other teenagers had their faces decorated with piercings or they wore thick black eyeliner and matching black lipstick and dressed in black and chains. He wondered what happened to parenting in the seventy years he was frozen or at least human decency. "Steve? You still with me?"

"Yeah, yeah" — he looked around again, before finding Natasha — "just uh… I guess culture shock?"

She gave him her signature half smile. "Yeah, guess that's the best way to describe it. It is a different culture," she said. She grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, tugging him along through the crowds like a mother holding onto her child. "You can ask questions. I  _am_  here to help." She gave him a cheeky grin. "As your liaison to the twenty-first century."

"And how did you get that position again?" he asked. She laughed; he was learning to associate that sound with comfort and familiarity. He twisted his wrist free of her grip and took her hand. Her skin was warm with after lotion softness, yet the femininity of her hand masked its strength and deadly nature. He felt grounded when she didn't pull her hand free. "Remind me, I'm an old man, memory's on the fritz." He could poke fun at himself.

"That'll be the day," she said with a laugh. "Well, it was down to Stark and Clint," she said, "and I know them both and I couldn't just let you suffer with their terrible taste."

"Like your taste is any better?" he arched a brow, a playful smile on his lips. Banter came so easy with her, as if they had known each other their entire lives. She shot him a playful glare.

"I'm earning my Help the Elderly Girl Scout badge by doing this," she said.

"Y'know, I'm  _technically_  twenty-seven" — he frowned — "twenty-eight, I had my birthday after the Battle of New York."

"Face it, Steve, you're a hundred years old. Nothing's gonna change that." She slid up to him, taking his arm in both of her hands. "It's okay  _Grandpa_ , we can take it slow—"

"Hardy har-har." He rolled his eyes.

"—Oh look, there's a Hallmark store." She pointed out the store. His face went slack, and then he smiled. "We—"

"We're going in there," he said, pulling his arm free and grabbing her hand, leading her for a change, to the store.

"Seriously?" she asked, trotting to keep up with his brisker and longer strides. "I was joking about the grandpa thing, Steve."

"My mam used to take me to Hallmark every year in December to buy cards for the nurses she worked with," he said as he entered the store.

"Hi, welcome to Hallmark," the sales associate said, "what brings you in today?"

"Just…" he looked around, trying to fit the pieces together. The store had changed since he was a boy. It used to sell cards and gifting items and a few knickknacks, now there was a plethora of various items. "Christmas cards," he said, finding the familiar red envelopes.

"Yes, we have a lovely—"

He ignored the associate and went straight to the cards. He ran his fingertips over them, reliving the memories of his youth. "It was one of the few times I heard my mam speak Irish," he said, "she always muttered to herself in Irish." He pulled one free, admiring the design and the glitter, the simple message inside. "She'd've loved these cards. So much fancier than the ones I remember."

"Lots have changed," Natasha said, standing by his side. He noticed that she didn't look at the cards, instead looking at the not-Christmas items.

"Every year she'd buy me something expensive. Mostly art supplies, but sometimes other things" — he slipped the card back into its slot — "and I'd get a card with a piece of chocolate inside stuffed into my stocking." He smiled. "Had an old shoebox filled with Christmas cards. She always wrote something in them." He sniffed, wiping at his eyes. "Read them a lot when I missed her after she passed. Could still smell her perfume on them." He sighed, looking at the ceiling, collecting himself.

"I'm sorry Steve," she said. "Was she a… good mom?"

He grinned. "The best. Always knew what to do make everything better." He shuffled down the aisle and plucked another card. "Even after a long day she'd have a smile for me. Made everything special even when it wasn't special." He put the card back. "Sometimes, I still can't believe she's gone."

"She sounds like a wonderful woman," she said. "What was her name?"

"Sarah," he said, a bit wistful. He looked around the shop, noting the ornament wall on one side, the wall with various figurines, and the various displays dotted in between. "Her name was Sarah." He looked at her. "What about you? Any fond Christmas memories?"

"I never celebrated Christmas until I escaped the Red Room," she said, blithely drifting away from him. It was a punch to the gut, he gaped at her like a fool, blinking in stupefied disbelief.

"N-Never… Never  _celebrated_  Christmas?" he asked. Good God, did he  _squeak_ , he hoped he didn't just squeak. "How could you have never celebrated  _Christmas_."

"Not everyone celebrates Christmas, Steve," she said, looking at the fancy Keepsake ornaments, the associate hovered near them. It was slow for the store, right now by the looks of it.

"Oh, so you celebrated Hanukkah, then?" He shoved his hands into his pockets. "That's alright in my book, really."

"No," she said, "I never celebrated  _any_  holiday." She flipped an ornament a bit too firmly. The sales associate made a weird noise. "It just… we didn't do it."

"Oh. That's sad," he said. She shrugged. "Well, you're going to enjoy Christmas this year," he said. "I'll make Mam's baked apples, and I still remember her stuffing recipe." He grinned, warming up to the idea. "I'll bring them to Tony's Christmas party. Everyone loves free food."

"You do realize Stark will have food there, right?" she arched a brow. She pressed the button on the Captain America ornament.

He frowned. "I don't sound like that," he said. She grinned.

"'We did it together, as a team, we're the Avengers,'" she quoted, mocking him. He rolled his eyes.

"Nobody makes baked apples like my mam did," he insisted. "Trust me, Natasha, you'll love them." He laughed. "Bucky could… Bucky could…" he stopped, blinking. He shook, leaning forward to put his hands on his knees. He was there again, the icy wind howling in his ears, mixing with Bucky's screams. His friend vanishing into the landscape of white and dark grey; the way gravity tried to drag him down as he reached for Bucky. How he saved himself instead of his friend. He let out a few shuddering breathes and shook his head.

"Sir? Are you okay?" the nervous associate asked, taking a step closer to him.

He forced a smile on his face as he looked at the young man. "Yeah, fine." He nodded, acting as if nothing abnormal happened and ignored Natasha's disbelieving glance. "You'll love them," he told her, looking at the ornaments with faux interest.  _Then honor his death and respect his choice, because he damn well thought you were worth it._  He closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek to keep the pain of losing Bucky at bay.

"I've lost friends too," Natasha whispered, slipping her hand into his. He bit his lip, nodding, squeezing her fingers. "The angel's nice."

"Yeah," he said, looking at the angel, "she is." Natasha let go of his hand and he watched her drift around the displays.

"I'm going to head out, if you want to get something go ahead, I'll be outside," she said.

"Okay." He looked at the associate. "That angel," he said, pointing to it. "Please."

* * *

The apples were still hot. He hissed and winced as he plucked them from the hot baking dish with a serving spoon and his hand. He didn't know how many to make so he made three dozen. His apartment smelled of apple pie, he had traditional carols playing in the background and he found himself humming to them. He wished he had some decorations, maybe he'll ask Natasha to help with that. Take him to one of those all year Christmas stores or something or — a knock broke through his thoughts and he almost dropped an apple on the floor. "Coming," he said, setting the apple down. He went to the door, wiping his hands. He opened the door, smiling a little when he saw it was Natasha. He tossed the hand towel over his shoulder.

"Didn't realize I caught you in a compromising position," she teased, eyes lingering a bit on his groin. He flushed, tucking his hands into his arm pits and rocking on his feet. She took a deep breath. "Smells like…" she stopped, licking her lips.

"Nothing's burning is it?" he asked, sniffing as well. "I should mix the stuffing." He headed to the kitchen. "Close the door will ya?" he asked over his shoulder. He heard the door shut as he lifted the lid to the stuffing, inhaling the reach aroma. His mouth began to water, the scents of chicken, onions and carrots bringing back fond memories of his childhood. Digging the wooden spoon in, he mixed the stuffing, remembering to scrap the bottom as his mother taught him. "Natasha, come here," he said as he tapped the wooden spoon on the pot's side. He took a small spoon and scooped out a bit, blowing on it. She came to him, cautious. "Try it," he said, "Mam's stuffing is the best."

He watched her take the spoon, nibbling at the stuffing before eating all of it. "This is good," she said. "Didn't know you could cook."

"I had to get by on my own." He went back to taking out the apples. "I made three dozen, wasn't sure how many everyone would eat and I could probably eat a dozen myself." He bent down and grabbed some large tupperwear. "I love this stuff" — he showed her the plastic containers — "best kitchen invention."

"Better than a mixer?" she arched her brow. He looked at the KitchenAid and chewed his lip. It was a handy invention, made life easier and baking quicker. He hadn't gotten a chance to use it, not being much of a baker.

"Yes." He set the tupperwear out with a duller clatter. "Help me back this up?" He started putting apples into the tupperwear. "Do you think we could go to some of the after-Christmas sales and get decorations? The apartment is kinda drab. Mam and I would string popcorn and make paper chains. If she wasn't too busy at the hospital and we could afford it, we'd go upstate to the woods and get some pine boughs for wreaths." He snapped the lid close.

"You really like Christmas," she said. He flushed, setting the apples in the next one. "Never took you for a religious person."

"I've… I wouldn't say more religious but… Mass is still done the same way it was seventy years ago." He shrugged. "It's familiar. I don't feel so… lost. And reading the Bible helps the nightmares."

"Nightmares?" she asked.

"What brings you by? Wasn't expecting you and I didn't think you'd be gun-ho to help me bring food to Tony's Christmas party."

"I got you a little something," she said, a mischievous grin on her face. He swallowed, focusing on his task to keep his emotions in check. He liked Natasha. He liked Natasha a lot. Their first meeting may have been cool, and she wasn't the coziest person, but in some ways, she reminded him of Peggy. A woman often underestimated, not afraid to put her life in danger to help people. Peggy was more open, easier to talk to, but the more he spent with Natasha, the more he discovered that she was easy to talk to, just in a different way. Yet, as much as he liked Natasha, she wasn't Peggy. And Peggy… Peggy was everything. He frowned, wishing he had died in the ice or when the Valkyrie crashed into the water. "I mean, it wasn't too much trouble. It's more of a gag gift… a gift meant as a joke. Not serious. I can take it back if you don't like it."

"Huh?" he looked at her, noting a flick of concern on her face before it vanished into a neutral mask.

"You got upset when I said I got you a gift."

"Oh, oh, no" — he waved his hand — "no, I was just… uh… I got a lotta thoughts rattlin' around in my head." He wiped his hands on his jeans. "So, you got me something, huh?" She nodded and presented the lumpy wrapped package. He arched a brow, taking it. "To: Steve. From: Natasha." He sat down at his little table and unwrapped the item, careful not to yank too hard at the tape.

"Maybe next year I'll just put the gift in a bag if you're gonna be an old man about unwrapping a gift."

"I'm ninety-four," he said, cheekily. He shook out the sweater. It was a deep navy with bands of white and red on the sleeves, hem and across the chest and neck. In the center was an image of his shield. "It's a sweater."

"Watch." She pressed a little button near the hem and the shield lit up in flashing colors — red, white and blue — while the Star-Spangled Banner Man with a Plan (instrumental version) blared. He winced and turned the sweater off. "Amazing isn't it?"

"I'm not wearing this, Natasha" — he offered the sweater back to her — "I appreciate the thought, but I'm sorry I'm not."

"It's a gift Steve, besides you have to wear it. Tony's hosting an ugly Christmas sweater party." She unzipped her jacket. Her sweater was a dark grey with a red hour glass symbol on the chest. She pressed the button on the hem and in a high tinny sound blared a national anthem he hadn't heard in decades.

"Is that… the Soviet national anthem?" he asked, watching the lights flash red and gold along her sweater. She nodded a soft giggle escaping from her. "I haven't heard that since I was in Russia."

She pressed the button again, shutting the sweater off. "What brought you to Russia?"

He shrugged, thinking of the winter of '43 and how the Soviets helped him and the SSR root out the Hydra base operating just inside the Russian border. A female Russian pilot had saved his life as he freed the prisoners. It had surprised him to learn she was a woman and later the Russian commander told him that the Red Army had several female fighters. "The war," he said. "Learned to respect Russian women though." He quirked a smile. "They can be scary."

She sat down, scooting the chair close and leaned well into his personal space. He could smell her perfume, a soft subtle floral scent that reminded him of roses after a storm. He leaned in closer, her hair smelled of roses and orchids. Her hands found their way to his thighs, a warm and gentle weight. "Just wear the damn sweater, Steve" — he could feel her breasts against his chest; he swallowed the lump in his throat — "I can always help you take it off later," she purred into his ear. She shifted a bit and more of the flowery scent filled his nose. He closed his eyes, the scent bringing forth memories of the floral scents Peggy wore. He told Bucky he was going to buy Peggy some nice expensive Paris perfume after the war. In fact, she wore his favorite the day she kissed him, jasmine and lilac with a hint of rose. He could feel her soft lips on his, the harsh orders of the car and plane exhaust mingling with the subtle floral notes of Peggy's perfume. The faith in him that he saw in her gaze gave him the courage he needed to go on, and the promise their kissed sealed was something he held onto. He pushed his chair back and was on his feet in a blink. Natasha grunted when her hands met hair.

"You should go," he said, staring at the horrid Christmas sweater in his hands, imaging all the Christmases he missed, the Christmases he should've spent with Peggy and the family they never got to have. The last time he heard her voice was when she told him where and when to meet her for their date. During the Christmas of '44, he promised Peggy he'd take her to a Christmas dance when the war was over; she hinted that she may just give him a kiss beneath some mistletoe once this was all over. He had blushed at that. It was the best Christmas he ever had, despite the fact they were in war torn Europe.

"Rogers, I was teasing about helping you take it off," she said, coming to stand in front of him. "Just wear the stupid thing for an hour or two and then go change. That's what I plan to do."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can make it." He looked at the apples and the stuffing he made. His teeth caught his lip; he sighed and decided that he could freeze the stuffing and just work on eating the apples for the next couple of weeks. Waste not, want not, right? Who was he fooling, thinking he could go to a Christmas party… his first Christmas out of the ice, and pretend everything was normal; with people he didn't know. "Tell Tony I—"

"No," she said, closing the gap between them. There was a look in her eye — concern, worry, he couldn't tell — that he hadn't seen before. "It's not good for you, staying home on Christmas Eve."

"I was planning on going to Midnight Mass," he said. "It's alright, I can get by on my own." Now I'm truly alone. At least last time I had Bucky… I knew people and how everything worked. Now… he shuddered. "Please, I don't want to be a Scrooge."

She shrugged. "Don't care. You're going."

"Natasha, I—"

"You can't celebrate your first Christmas back in the world alone, Steve." He hung his head at that. "Just come until you have to leave for Midnight Mass."

"Do I have to wear the sweater?"

"Until you leave for Midnight Mass."

* * *

He had been inside Avengers Tower a few times before. In fact, he lived there on an entire floor to himself (he had no idea what to do with all that space). The interior was always sleek, cutting edge and futuristic. Glass and chrome accents and the soft electrical hum of technology. All powered by JARVIS and all birthed by Tony's genius. It was still sleek, cutting edge and futuristic, though now boughs of holly (fake) with red velvet ribbons hung from the walls, red and green LED lights tucked into the seam between wall and ceiling, JARVIS greeting them with a Merry Christmas. It was a technocrat's version of Christmas. He tugged at his sweater. "Are you sure we won't be the only ones wearing these… things?" he asked, glancing at Natasha. He carried the pot of stuffing and she carried the tupperwear filled with the baked apples. He had left the ornament in his jacket pocket on the bed in his suite.

"Yeah." She glanced up. "Right JARVIS?"

"It is an  _ugly_  Christmas sweater party, Captain Rogers," JARVIS said in a smooth British accent. Steve huffed as they reached the penthouse floor. The elevator chimed their arrival (the chimes sounded like sleigh bells). They stepped out.

"Hey, you guys made it!" Clint said, coming over to greet them. "Whatcha bring Cap?"

"My mam's stuffing and baked apples," he said, grinning. "And… what are you wearing?" he arched a brow at Clint's sweater. It was a dark olive green, with a childish image of a man with blond hair and pointed ears; the man held a bow and a Santa hat sat on his head. Clint grimaced.

"It's Legolas, from  _The Lord of the Rings_ ," Clint said.

"We've watched it, it's the archer," Natasha said, out of the corner of her mouth. He nodded, remembering now. "I'm sorry Clint."

"It was the only thing Tony could think of apparently. Though… I guess he didn't do much thought for yours or Banner's."

"What's wrong with Banner's?" Steve asked, finding the scientist in the corner. His sweater was green. That's it. Just green with flashing green Christmas lights. "It's green."

"I get an eight-bit elf image and Banner gets a green sweater," Clint said as if that was supposed to explain everything. He arched a brow while Natasha chuckled and went over to the table, setting the tupperwear of apples down. He followed her.

"Natasha can you get the hot mitt from my pocket?" he asked and shifted so she could grab the thick square piece of cloth from his pants' pocket. She did and sat it down and he put the stuffing pot on top. "There, thanks."

"It was no problem," she said with a wink. He flushed. Tony walked up to them, his sweater was the less offensive garment so far. It mimicked Iron Man's breast plate though a hole was in the center to expose Tony's actual arch reactor.

"Capsicle! You made it!" he gave an uneasy smile at Natasha. "Natalie."

"Stark," she said. "You're looking spiffy."

"Nice sweater Tony," Steve said, shoving his hands into his pockets. He tried not to stare at Tony too much, tried to not find parts of Howard in his son. Tried… and failed. Howard had been his friend, someone he shared drinks with and laughed about the mysterious nature of women. Tony, as he learned quickly, was nothing like his father. Well, that wasn't true. Tony and Howard shared brilliance, natural charm and money. The similarities ended there.

"It plays music, all of them do," Tony said.

"I hate you Stark!" Clint yelled, when someone pressed the button on his sweater and  _The Lord of the Rings_  theme blared into life. Steve's eyes grew wide when he realized that Tony had hooked the sweaters' music system up to the speaker system of the tower.

"Love you too Barton!" Tony gave the archer a cheeky grin and a merry wave. "Now let's press your button Capsicle."

"No." He took a step back, shaking his head and eyeing Tony's hand. The Soviet anthem sounded, loud and epic with the choir singing in Russian. He breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring Tony's pout. The elevator chimed again.

"Happy Yule everyone! I come bearing the Yule Boar!" Thor declared in his loud booming voice. He stepped out of the elevator, he wore a golden sweater with an image of his hammer emblazon on his chest. Upon one shoulder he carried an entire roasted pig, grease stains clear on his sweater. In the other was a wooden log. "And a Yule Log for more festivities tonight." Besides him stood a white goat with a wreathe around its neck. It gave a bleat, breaking the shocked silence.

"Thor," Tony began, "is that a goat?"

"Aye!" Thor said, grinning. "'Tis a billygoat! His name is Tanngnjóstr."

"Why did you bring a goat?" Clint asked, coming over to see what the commotion was about. The thunder god continued to grin.

"He's a Yule Goat. Every year my father would gift me a goat for Yule." He looked down fondly at the animal. "I'd raise them for a year and then we'd feast upon the goat."

"Okay, but why?"

Thor shrugged. "I have no idea," he said, "apparently Midgardians — you… Earth people — thought I really liked goats."

"Okay" — Clint's awkward grimace spoke for them all about being called  _Earth people_  — "but why did you  _bring_  the goat."

"Oh," Thor said, "that's simple. It's Yule! Can't have a proper Yule without a Yule Goat!"

"Please tell me you're not going to sacrifice Tann… your goat, Thor," Tony said, "I just brought in my white faux fur rugs for the winter and—"

"Not to worry Stark," Thor said, "I brought a Yule Boar for feasting! Went to Vanaheim and slew the beast myself!" He pushed his way through the crowd to the table and set the log down; then with one mighty sweep of his arm made a space for the large boar. Steve felt sorry for Tony as things clattered to the floor. "It was an epic battle," he said, "I shall regale you all about the hunt as we feast upon it!"

"I… I had ham," Tony said. Steve looked at the glazed ham on another table next to a beautiful Christmas goose and prime rib, his eyes grew wide at the display. Never had he seen so much food in one place before, every imaginable Christmas dish was present, prepared by the finest chefs in New York City. "I ordered catering, Thor! We had plenty of food!" Tony frowned when he noticed the tupperwear and pot. "Rogers, did you… bring this?" he pointed to odd items.

"Yeah, my mam's baked apples and stuffing." He swallowed. "I knew you had catering Tony, but I always had this during Christmas and I… uh… wanted to share."

"Mom's recipe?" Tony arched a brow. He nodded. "Can't say no to a mom's recipe." He grinned at the compliment, pleased that Tony liked his contribution to the array of food. "Let's get this party started, shall we? JARVIS."

"Yes sir?"

"Christmas music," he said and began to mingle with the guests. "You know the one."

"Of course, sir," the AI said, and a bombastic opening to the Ukrainian bell carol echoed on an ultramodern stereo; lights flashed red and green to the beat of the music. Tony, at the center of it all, grinned.

"I know this song," Steve said, staring at the lights. "Never heard it like this before." He stood there, awkward as people mingled. He only knew the Avengers; the rest were guests from Stark Industries that he didn't know. At the parties back home — funny how he thinks of before the ice as  _home_  and after as not — he'd hang back, watching the gathering while he nursed a drink that Bucky had got for him. Bucky would come over and cajole him into mingling, steering him to where the mistletoe hung in hopes that the girl he had convinced would kiss him. Too often (like every time) she kissed Bucky, not him. At his hurt look, Bucky would come to his defense and demand to know why, to which the girl comment about his small stature, Susan McGillan had said, "he's more boy than man, Bucky." Betty Roberts had answered, "there's not enough man in him to appreciate a kiss!" Those hurt, but he shook them off. He lived his entire life knowing he was small, bullied because he was small. All the girls said that about him, but by far the worst was the Christmas of '39 when Anna Grace Martin sneered, "You want me to kiss  _that_? He's not even a man, besides, he's  _Irish_."

He left that party before Bucky could start anything. Being bullied for his small stature he could handle, but he hated being singled out because he was Irish. Now, seventy-three years late, he stood amongst strangers once more, feeling more awkward and out of place. The only plus side was that nobody hated the Irish anymore. He drifted to a corner, tucking his hands into his arm pits, watching everyone. "Rough crowd?" a voice asked. His eyes widened, surprised to see Fury there. The Shield director wore his signature long black leather trench coat and black eye patch over his eye. He also wore a candy cane pin on his lapel, the only nod on his entire person to the holiday.

"Director Fury, sir," he said, swallowing and looking around to see if anyone was watching. "Didn't know Tony invited you."

"He did, Hill and Sitwell are here as well." Fury watched the crowd, hands behind his back. "How are you adjusting?"

"Well," he said, "Natasha… uh, Romanoff— I mean,  _Agent_  Romanoff, she's helping me catch up. Still behind, made a list of things to check out. And the internet," he said, "so helpful. Been reading it a lot trying to catch up. Natasha —  _Agent_  Romanoff helps me with it from time to time."

If Fury noticed his familiar addressing of Natasha, he didn't comment. He thought Natasha was difficult to read, but reading Fury was like trying to squeeze water from a rock. "That's good," he said.

"Found a place in Brooklyn," he said, "not… changed a lot since I last been there." He glanced at the floor, which was more interesting that watching the crowd of people. He wanted to find Natasha, but he didn't want to appear like he was a fish out of water or a lost puppy. "Thinkin' about askin' Natasha — Agent Romanoff, if she'd uh… help me with Christmas decorations for next year."

"How would you like to join Shield?" Fury asked. He snapped his head to stare at the director. "Not sure if you're familiar with the history of Shield, but it was what the SSR became. Peggy Carter helped found it, along with Stark's father and Colonel Philips."

"Oh," he said. He swallowed, trying to sort his memories of Peggy and his crushed dreams of a future they never got the chance to have around in his head. He swallowed, squishing his hands further into his arm pits. "I uh… well…"

"Think about it Cap," Fury said, "we'd love to have you on the team." Fury gave him a single nod. "Merry Christmas." And walked into the crowd, vanishing among the sea of people. He stared at the spot the Shield director was moments ago, trying to gather his thoughts. Unsure what to do or say, so he just stood there until Natasha came over, her cheeks flushed from drink, eyes bright with good cheer.

"Steve, what are you doing here? Hiding in the corner like a Scrooge," she said, looping her arm through his. "Mingle, before Stark finds you and labels you a Grinch."

"A what?"

"Put it on the list," she said and took a sip of the drink she held. "Vodka?" she smirked. He swallowed again, cheeks heating and blood rushing south. Whenever she smirked like that, he got a little thrill of excitement, it was how Peggy made him feel, when she had showed up at the bar in that stunning red dress and told him that after the war she may even go dancing. He squeezed his eyes shut and gave himself a little shake. He didn't need to be thinking about Natasha like that. He had Peggy… well, Peggy was probably dead, and probably had married during the seventy years he was frozen — regardless, he shouldn't be thinking about Natasha like that. He didn't know much about her private life, but he was pretty sure that she and Clint had a thing. "It's the good stuff," she said, "Zyr, best Russian vodka money can buy. Stark always gets the good stuff."

"No, I uh… can't get drunk," he said. "So, I uh—"

"You can't get drunk?" she arched a brow. He flushed. He should have known better to admit that to her. She was Russian. Next to the Germans and Irish, the Russians were known to be big drinkers. He read on the internet that after the end of WWII, Moscow ran out of vodka because the Russians partied so hard. "That's the best, Steve!"

"I really don't see how it is," he muttered. He never was a big drinker, so he'd nurse a drink throughout the night. It was only after Bucky's death that he realized he couldn't get drunk. "It's quiet miserable when you want."

"Think about it Rogers," she said, leaning into him — he figured she was a bit tipsy, since her rigid control over her emotions was loosen. "You can actually  _enjoy_  alcohol. You can drink it like other people drink juice. Not that I'd recommend it, but… you can be an absolute liquor snob now."

He titled his head, never thinking about actually drinking for taste and pleasure before or realizing that the serum allowed him to be able to do that. Never hurts to start. "Let me taste then," he said, holding his hand out for her glass. She handed it to him. "Best Russian vodka?"

"Best money could buy," she said, smirking again. He flushed and squeezed his thighs together and made himself think of something sexually unappealing. He took the glass and took a sip. He made a face at the burn of alcohol.

"It's… not for me," he said, handing the drink back to her. She gave a little shrug, taking another sip. "Sorry, I just… even before I was well…" he swallowed. "I never was a big drinker."

"Steven!" Thor boomed as he came over to him.

"Please, Thor, just Steve." He gave the Asgardian a pleasant smile. Thor clapped him on the shoulder with a beefy hand, gesturing with his mug to his sweater.

"You have a Yule sweater too!" He plucked at his own. "I'm pleased Stark felt inclined to give us festive garments to wear to this Yule celebration."

"Christmas sweater Thor," Natasha said. "And it's Christmas party." She took another sip of her drink.

"That's what I said." He grabbed the button on Steve's sweater and pushed. The Christmas music stopped, replaced by the song the sweater played. Everyone turned and stared at him. He wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. "Marvelous!" Thor said in that booming voice of his. He pressed his own sweater's button. A song he never heard before began to play.

"Is this  _Immigrant_  by Led Zeppelin?" Clint asked, looking at Tony. Tony pushed his lips together, making a popping sound as he pulled them back in a feral happy grin.

" _Bingo_ , Legolas!" he said.

"Please don't call me that," Clint groused, tipping his beer back to take another swallow. He pushed at the goat. "Thor come get you goat."

"Tanngnjóstr! Leave the Master of Arrows alone!" he strolled over to Clint and scooped the goat up, tucking it beneath his arm. The goat bleated. "I'm sorry Clinton, he's just being friendly."

"Don't  _ever_  call me that," Clint hissed, "it's  _Clint_."

Thor gave him a puzzled frown. "I'm sorry, I thought your name was—"

"My name is  _Clint_  Barton. You can call me that, or Barton or Hawkeye or even 'hey you, arrow guy'. Just don't call me that."

Steve frowned, leaning close to Natasha. "What does Clint have against Clinton?" he asked. She brought her drink to her lips, taking a long swallow.

"I asked once," she said.

"And?"

She gave him a look. "Never asked again." She drifted over to the table of food, eating some of the finger food items. He stood by her side, feeling awkward again.

"Steven," Thor said, coming over to them, the goat still tucked beneath his arm. "Let me get you something to drink! You must be merry during Yule!"

"It's Christmas, Thor. Nobody calls it Yule anymore," she said. The god ignored her as he set his goat down and got another tankard. Steve wondered when the large wooden barrel made its way into the room, but he figured it was better not to ask questions as Thor handed him a foaming tankard of Asgardian spirits.

"Asgardian honey mead, brewed specially for Yule!" Thor thrust the tankard into his hands. "Drink up!"

"I uh" — he glanced at Natasha and then at the god — "okay," he said and drank. The mead was sweat with warming spices of cinnamon, cloves, ginger and nutmeg (he wondered how the Asgardians had such spices), there was also a hint of orange. It tasted better than the vodka. "This isn't bad." He grinned. "You know I can't get drunk right?"

"Steven, my friend," Thor said as he slung his beefy arm around him. "Asgardian mead is quite different from Midgardian brews." He tipped the tankard back. "Drink up, it's Yule!"

He choked, swallowing the sweet and spice mead quickly so he didn't gag. Natasha giggling behind him wasn't helping. He lowered the tankard when he finished. "This is uh…"

"Another!" Thor shouted, snatching the tankard away and refilling it. "And you must try the Yule Boar!" Thor handed the full tankard back to him before pulling off a hunk of the boar, its skin roasted to a crisp perfection crackled as Thor plopped it on a plate and handed it to him. Steve looked at the large hunk of meat. He took it.

"Thank you," he said and filled his plate with a little bit of everything (his own offerings included) and sat down at a couch to eat. He was about half way through his meal when the Asgardian mead hit him. His head swam, he felt warm and flushed, his stomach rolled, and he felt the strong urge to pee. He shook his head when Natasha sat down.

"You okay, Rogers?" she asked.

"I think the mead hit me," he said, looking at the half-drunk tankard. She arched a brow. He took another long swallow. "Haven't been drunk since '36," he muttered, his voice echoing in the hallow clay confines of the tankard. "So—" he shrugged.

"What crazy party did you go to in 1936?" she asked, a giggle in her voice. He lowered his tankard, his face grim as he caught her mirthful gaze.

"My mother died in 1936," he said. The smile fell from her face and she straightened, looking ashamed.

"Steve… I'm sorry," she said, bowing her head, "I didn't know."

The party seemed far away, the world narrowing down to the two of them. It felt nice that she offered sympathy. He hadn't thought about his mother's death in a long time. The ache in his heart hurt anew, the reminder that he was a man out of time fresh. His mother had been dead seventy-three years, yet to him still felt like only nine years. Though, he supposed, neither amount of time made it easier. Time doesn't heal all wounds. The thought was bitter, like the burn of his sudden tears. He pressed the heel of his palm to his eyes. He felt melancholic, woozy and too warm; he was acutely aware of Natasha rubbing his bicep in an effort to comfort him. He stood up. "I'm warm, wanna head out and get some fresh air?" he asked. Head spinning, he grabbed her shoulder, squeezing to keep himself upright. He forgot what it was like to be drunk; he didn't notice that she winced.

"Yeah," she said and lead him out to balcony. Thor stopped him on the way to the door to fill his tankard (yet again) with the heady Asgardian mead.

"Thor, I really… I don't think I can drink anymore," he said, wincing as some of it flowed over the rim and onto his hand. His head spinning, he felt like he was sweating even though he knew he wasn't and his bladder felt over filled. The demigod flashed him a board grin and clapped him on the back.

"It's Yule, Steven! Drink up! Be merry!" he said and went off to mingle with the rest of the guests. Steve sighed, taking a long swallow from his tankard, inwardly cursing his mother for ingraining such refine manners into hm. He slipped outside, shuddering at the biting December cold. Fat snowflakes drifted down, zigzagging in lazy spirals towards the earth. New York was bright, golden oranges and bright yellows from the streetlights and headlights of cars, clear white from the offices still open as they held their annual Christmas parties. Christmas lights aglow on the wreaths hung upon the lampposts and buildings. Tony had programmed the lights of the A as well, flashing seasonal colors in time to the music and a Christmas decoration was set up on the overhead level.

It was all background information to him. Natasha stood there, snow caught in her red hair and black sweater. She watched the city, a serene look on her face, pensive but not unhappy; content. "Back in Russia, because it was communist, we didn't celebrate Christmas," she said, "at least I don't remember celebrating it. Then in the Red Room there were no such things as birthdays and holiday." She took a sip of her vodka. He stopped at her side, sipping at the mead to give him something to do, feeling more and more woozy. "It wasn't until Clint rescued me that… I truly experienced Christmas." She smiled at him and he grabbed the cold railing, the shock of it kept his mind from wandering into the gutter. He drank some more. "It was 2006, Clint had found me that spring, so I'd been out a few months. He invited me over for Christmas."

"Oh? That's nice of him."

"Clint's a great guy. Took me under his wing, I'm grateful for him. He… I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for him." She took another sip. "And Laura… she's special too. Always flexible, always willing to adjust and understand. Never asking too many questions, accepting the answers Clint gives. She has to be, being married to Clint and knowing what he does for a living."

"Wait," he said, "Clint's  _married_?" It was a struggle to process the information, his mead-washed brain didn't want to understand it, but he forced it to and his eyes widen. "He's married… but I thought you and him" — he cleared his throat — "err… y'know, fondued."

"Fondued?" she arched a brow, confused. "Clint hates fondue."

"No, no… I…" he chugged some more mead to hide his embarrassment. "Make whoopie… do the dance with no pants, uh… cuddle naked." Natasha bowed her head, shoulders hunching up around her shoulders as she snickered at him. He flushed, hating himself. "I thought you and Clint were together."

"No," she said, "no Clint and I aren't together. He's like brother to me. Laura is Clint's wife." She smiled. "And what's this thing about fondue?"

"I uh… I'll explain later when I'm less… drunk," he said, looking at the tankard and drowning the rest of the contents. "If I have any more I may throw up."

"Okay, Rogers," she said, shaking her head, "I guess you can get drunk, so long as its Asgardian mead."

"Yeah." He looked out at the snowy city. "Always was a lightweight, even when I was—"

"A shrimp?"

He scowled, but an amused snort escaped him. "Yeah." He peered into the empty tankard. "Mam always made Christmas special. We'd string popcorn and listen to Bing Crosby on the radio. If she wanted to do things extra special, she'll make caramel apples and we'd make papier-mâché ornaments and paper garlands for the tree. I'd go down to the corner store and buy a box of candy canes for a buck and hang them up on the tree. We didn't have a tree topper so we'd put Da's crucifix on instead. Sing Christmas carols before going to bed." He wiped at his eyes. "Christmas was always special. Even though we didn't have much, it felt like we had a bunch." He hung his head. "Doesn't feel the same now. Doesn't  _feel_  like Christmas. Everyone's concerned about shopping and parties and gifts. It seems like in the past seventy years everyone forgot about what Christmas means."

"People aren't religious like they used to be."

"I'm not talking about that, Natasha," he said, "Christmas is… we lived near the Jewish neighbourhood, because it was cheap, and they didn't mind us Irish… they even wished us Merry Christmas, invited us over for a Christmas dinner once or twice. They didn't celebrate it, but they understood it. They understood what it meant." He shook his head, hating how his emotions bubbled up so easily. "I have no one, Natasha. Everyone I ever knew, ever cared about its dead and gone and I just… I'm alone. I'm so alone." The tears dried on his cheeks, sharp and cold with his misery. If she was uncomfortable with his sudden confession she didn't show it. She took the tankard from his numb fingers and set both the tankard and her glass aside.

"I understand," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. He buried his face into her neck. Her hand traveled up and down his back. He pulled away after a moment or two, turning his gaze to the city. A car blared, the sound muted in the wintery night. Tiny black human shaped figured walked along the snow-covered sidewalks. New York never slept, even back in his day, there was something always going on, but now it seemed like that was truer. There was the constant buzz of technology, if people slept then the machines stayed up, working long after their human masters went to bed. Natasha's hand closed over his. "After the Red Room, I felt alone too. Felt out of place. All I ever knew was a life in the Red Room, my life before it… well, they had really good mental conditioning. Most of it feels like a dream. Clint… he stayed by me after I got out. He made me feel less alone."

"You're lucky to have him; a friend like him," he said. Bucky was like that… but Bucky's dead, because of me. "I have nobody." He pulled away before she could say anything, his head spun from the suddenness of it, and he headed to the door.

"Steve, wait," Natasha said, and he heard her follow him. The door hissed then sighed open and they both stepped into the moist warmth of the interior. Everyone stopped, Tony had JARVIS turn the music down low. He grunted when she ran into his back. Though drunk, he managed to stay up right.

"Looks like someone's beneath the mistletoe!" Tony shouted. Steve flushed, and stepped aside to let Natasha enter further; the doors sighed closed behind them. "C'mon Capsicle, kiss her!"

"Yeah," Rhodey agreed, "caught beneath mistletoe, gotta kiss."

His flush deepened. "I'm… uh… no, I'm not—"

"Sure you're not that old to remember that you gotta kiss beneath the mistletoe," Clint said. "Bet it was around during your time."

He swallowed, tugging at the collar of his sweater. "It was, Barton, it was but I—"

"Among Victorian English tradition, any man beneath the mistletoe can kiss the woman caught with him. If the woman refused a kiss, she'll have bad luck. Berries were to be plucked after each kiss and once the berries were gone the plant had no power to command kisses anymore" — Bruce made a face — "Mistletoe is poisonous so… don't eat the berries. And among German tradition, the couple that shares a kiss beneath mistletoe is destined to have enduring love or are bound to marry each other."

Steve glanced at Natasha from the corner of his eye, unsure whether to bolt or go through with it. He never kissed anyone beneath mistletoe. "Thanks, Nerd!" Tony shouted, Bruce flushed. "C'mon, Rogers! Give Natalie a smooch!"

"Shut up, Stark, you're drunk," Natasha said.

"Aren't we all?"

"A tradition, such as this, must be upheld. Though in Asgard, the mistletoe is banned." Thor frowned. "Loki tricked our blind cousin Hodur into throwing mistletoe arrow as his cousin Bladr, it killed him."

The room was silent again. The goat bleated, and Clint coughed into his fist. "That's why you don't give blind people arrows," he muttered. Tony burst into uproarious laughter at the comment. "You can kiss her Cap, just remember if you break her heart, I know where you live."

"I bet he's shaking in his boots," Tony said. "Go on kiss her! Before I get everyone to chant."

"Fine, fine," he said, losing his patience (and his bladder was not far behind, dear God why did he drink that third tankard). He kissed Natasha's cheek. She arched a brow and the room booed. "I kissed her."

"Do a proper kiss, Captain," Hill called from the crowed. He hunched his shoulders up around his head, trying to become smaller than his six-foot-two frame.

Tony looped his arm around Pepper's waist when she drew near. "I'll show you, Rogers, since Dad said you were hopeless with the ladies." He kissed Pepper, pulling her close and cradling her head with his hand. "That's how you kiss… what did Dad always say you old folks called the ladies? Right, dames. That's how you kiss a dame." He winked at him.

If Steve ever wanted the floor to open up and swallow him it was now. He glanced at Natasha. "What's the matter Rogers? Never kissed a girl beneath mistletoe before?" she asked, that smirk appearing on her face again. His face paled and blood rush south.

"I can show you how to do it, Steve," Bruce said, inching closer to them.

"When have you ever kissed a girl, Banner?" Clint asked.

"I was popular-ish with the ladies before… well… you know," Bruce said, sounding flustered. Clint and Tony both gave a laughing snort. The fact that Bruce offered to kiss Natasha irked him. It reminded him of how he felt when Howard asked Peggy if she wanted a late-night fondue. An evil itch that wriggled up his spine.

"I can damn well kiss my dame," he growled, shooting a challenging glare at Bruce. He grabbed Natasha's face, pleased about her surprised squeak, swallowed and — it's just like how Clark Gable kissed Scarlette O'Hara in  _Gone With The Wind_ , he told himself — kissed her. Her lips were soft, tasting of the vodka she drank, cold from the outside yet warm with her internal heat. Her tongue brushed against his lips and he opened his mouth, tasting more of the vodka on her tongue. He gave a soft groan when she ground against him. They broke apart when the demand for air was too much, still they didn't lose contact. He took in several breaths, processing everything. "Uh…"

Natasha smirked, green eyes twinkling with…  _something_  he couldn't quiet place. "I can do more than just kiss you beneath the mistletoe," she whispered into his ear, "I can make you go ho ho ho, too." She ground her hips against him. His face went red, his stomach rolled, and he felt himself harden further.

"I gotta go," he said, pulling away from her and walking towards the exit, trying to not cup his hands around his crotch as he wove through the crowds. He hoped nobody saw his erection, he hoped it wasn't as prominent as it felt. Stupid serum, he thought to himself with an unhappy grumble as he went into the elevator and told JARVIS to take him to his suite.

* * *

Vomiting his dinner into the toilet won out over jacking off to his holiday themed fantasy of Natasha having her way with him. He flopped onto the bed, dimly aware of the ornament and tried to sleep. "Captain Rogers, it's thirty minutes to midnight, the nearest Catholic Church's Midnight Mass begins in fifteen minutes. I have informed Mr. Hogan that you will be requiring a drive to the event."

Right, Midnight Mass… he forgotten about that, forgotten he told JARVIS to remind him. "Thank you, JARVIS."

"Of course sir, also, Miss Romanoff is at your door, she seems… agitated, shall I let her in?"

No. "Sure." He sat up, rubbing his face, pulled the sweater off as Natasha came in. His puckering in the cold of his room.

"God bless America," she said, desire in her voice. He flushed. "So, you changed your mind?"

"No, I uh…" he stood up, making a face and opened his closet for a shirt. He shrugged into it, fingers deftly buttoning it closed. He tucked the ends into his pants. "Sorry. I uh… I'm sorry."

"I should be apologizing," she said, "I was out of line." She smiled. "Though for your first kiss since 1945—"

"I'm sorry, I only had… Peggy… she… she kissed me before... I… she kissed me goodbye," he said. "And again, I'm sorry, but… it's not… I still—" he stopped, shaking his head, figuring it was better not to say anything further. Thinking about Peggy hurt, and he couldn't betray her, even though she's dead and would have wanted me to live my life and find happiness even if it wasn't with her.

"I understand," she said, "I've lost someone too."

He nodded, giving her a small smile as he combed his hair to the side. He glanced at the mirror, he looked halfway decent. "Well, uh… Merry Christmas," he said, scooping up her gift and his jacket. "Happy's waiting for me. Gonna take me to Midnight Mass."

"I'll tag along, never been to one before," she said.

"You really don't have to, Natasha. I'll be fine on my own," he said, as he shrugged into his coat and stuck the box into his pocket.

"You shouldn't be alone on Christmas Steve, even if you're going to church," she said and looped her arm through his. "You're surprisingly sober."

"I threw up."

"Ah. I didn't, but I've always been good at holding my liquor," she said as they entered the elevator together. They rode the elevator in silence, the floor numbers pinging as they came and went. He glanced at her, a little smile on his face.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For coming," he said, she smiled.

"Someone has to make sure you get back in one piece, Rogers," she teased as they reached the garage and stepped into the cold exhaust scented space. Happy was waiting for them with a car. He opened the door for her, which she smiled and thanked him, before he got in himself on the other side and Happy drove them to Mass.

* * *

The church he went to as a boy felt more medieval than the church he and Natasha sat in. Still, the weight of tradition stretching back thousands of years hung heavy in the space. A sense of devote holiness, a divinity beyond the ken of mortal man. They sat in the back, the pews less crowded, both observing the Mass rather than following along. Though they did partake in the communal aspects of it. Sang Christmas songs and said amen when required. The priest was a grandfatherly fellow but with a soft voice that carried through the solemn silence of the church. He spoke of Jesus's birth, how the Guiding Star brought the Wise Men to Bethlehem, how the angels informed the shepherds of Christ's birth. How the world rejoiced over the news of their Savior, the Son of God, born of the Virgin Mary. The choir boys behind the priest began to sing a hymn, dressed in white and gold gowns, their cherubic faces pink-cheeked and merry. "I was a choir boy," he said, his voice soft as to not disturb Mass.

"Oh?" she arched a brow. "Don't take you for a singer."

He flushed. "Well, I was. I was good at it. I also helped drew the backgrounds for the Nativity scene at our church when I was a boy. And I played the little drummer boy in the Christmas Pageant."

"You were very involved."

"Well, it was either partake in church functions or get beat up in snowy alleyways, Mam preferred the church functions, so…" he gave a little shrug. "Was a part of the church choir, did Sunday school. The usual stuff. Made Mam happy."

"Explains the good manners and the only one god," she said, a teasing smile on her face. He shook his head, leaning back into the rigid wooden backrest of the pew. He took her hand, putting it on his thigh, squeezing her fingers. Neither said anything about it, both accepting the contact, the quite closeness between them, a budding friendship. "Do you believe it?"

"Believe what? That Jesus was the Son of God?"

"No, what Bruce said, how we'll get married and have enduring love because we kissed beneath the mistletoe. Do you believe it?" she asked, a pensive open expression on her face, as if she was silently asking him to give he a reason to trust in something she wouldn't trust in; looking for hope from him.

"I uh…" he tilted his head, unsure how to answer. He gave a little shrug. "Not really. It's just a superstition. Why?" he asked, glancing at her. If she was disappointed with his answer, she didn't show it.

"Love is for children," she said, "and marriage only happens in fairy tales."

"Take that as a no." He watched her nod out of the corner of his eye. He pulled out the box, the wrapping paper started to peel away from one corner, he frowned. "Merry Christmas, Natasha," he said, handing it to her. "Sorry about the condition."

"For me?" she asked. He nodded and began to worry when he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "I… thank you," she said, a heartfelt smile spreading on her face. She unwrapped the present with the same carefulness he had done with the sweater.

"I'll get you a bag next time since you're going to be an old lady about it." He bumped her arm with his elbow, smiling. She shot him a mock glare, and then her face went slack at the sight of the angel. "Do you like it?"

"Steve… I…" she opened the box, pulling apart the molded plastic case and held up the pretty angel. The light from the candles shimmered off the mirror finish of the porcelain and metal accents. A comforting expression was on the angel's face as she held the Guiding Star. He reached over and wiped away a tear. "I've never gotten something this beautiful before."

"Well, it's nothing. I saw it thought of you and…" he shrugged.

"I don't know what to say," she said, holding the angel for a few moments longer. With reverence, she put the ornament back into the box, placing the plastic lid over her. "I'll always treasure this, Steve. Thank you."

He leaned in closer to her. "You're welcome, Natasha," he said, his voice soft and his eyes started to flutter close. He could smell the vodka that stubbornly clung to her breath, the floral notes of her perfume and the new car smell that clung on her jacket. He could almost feel her lips, taste them too, his eidetic memory filling in the missing pieces.

"We shall end this Mass by singing,  _Silent Night_ ," the priest said, his voice breaking through their private moment. They pulled apart, sitting up straighter. The choir master moved his arms to get the tempo of the song going and the choir began to sing. It began soft and angelic, the youthful voices of boys too young to be on the cusp of manhood filled the space, echoing through the church and up to Heaven, so the Father, Son and Holy Ghost could hear. He threaded his fingers with Natasha's, smiling at her and his heart swelled when she returned it.

Together they began to sing, " _Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright_ _._ _Round yon virgin mother and child._ _Holy infant, so tender and mild,_ _sleep in heavenly peace!_ _Sleep in heavenly peace._ "


	2. The Second Christmas - 2013

Growing up, Natasha never celebrated Christmas; banned as a religious holiday in the USSR and by the time the communist regime fell, and Christmas returned to the forefront of the winter celebrations she had been fully ensconced in the Red Room, where Christmas and all other holidays (including birthdays) didn't exist. Nothing did beyond the mission. Then in 2006, Clint pulled her out from the blood drenched darkness that was her life since she was a little girl and brought her home for Christmas. American Christmas overwhelmed her at first and it still overwhelmed her. Like now, standing in an all year Christmas store in DC with Steve.

Christmas paraphernalia filled the floor space of the shop. Santas from the jolly rustic kind with rosy cheeks and big rotund bellies, grandfatherly smiles on their faces and grabbed in their bright red and white suits; to Santas playing the saxophone and guitars and other instruments, Santas in bathing suits holding a surfboard, and every other imaginable activity in every imaginable race. Not mention the plethora of reindeer, snowmen, polar bears and penguins (even though penguins are native strictly to the southern hemisphere). The more religious decorations included Nativity scenes in every imaginable artistic style, angels and stars. Doves and various other birds. Shoved into a corner was Hanukkah stuff, almost as if it was forgotten, the blue and white drowning in the onslaught of red and green. From every corner hung wreathes and boughs of holly, and Christmas trees.

Plastic trees from tacky and unrealistic to trees so life like she almost through they were real. Christmas lights wound around them, blinking or just a steady warm glow. Decorations hung from their branches with angels or stars topping them. It was difficult to move in the story, even for a petite slender woman like her. Steve, with his bulk and board shoulders, reminded her of a bull in a china shop. "We didn't have stores like this back in Brooklyn," he said, side stepping down an aisle with Christmas elves on either side. She found their paints faces creepy. "Why are we here again?" he asked.

"To buy Christmas decorations. You said you wanted some, right?"

"Yeah, but we got a nice selection at Hallmark, I don't need that much. Just a few knickknacks here and there to make the apartment—"

"—less drab?" She arched a brow. She hated how his apartment decor. It was stale, empty. It felt like a bunch of junior level agents bought a bunch of things at IKEA and put it together, thinking if it looked vintage he'd like it. The only things that felt  _Steve_  in the entire place were his shield, clothes, books and movies and the few pictures he had, and the food in the fridge. Everything else felt manufactured, artificial. He made a face at that.

"I was going to say more festive, but if you're going for depressing I guess that works," he said with a little shrug. "Whoa!" he steadied a glass bobble, eyes a bit wide as he removed his hands with glacial slowness. "I feel like if I sneeze I'll break something."

The probability of that happening is high. "At least they don't have a you break it you bought it policy." She looked around at the glass bobbles. "I think." She picked up a penguin with a scarf and hat, frowning at its overt cheerfulness. She didn't understand why people spent money on junk that came out once a year. If she wanted to decorate her house, she'll go out and buy stuff from Pier 1 Imports. At least that was secular, she could have it all out all year round. "Do you know what you're looking for?"

"Well, you said this is a good place to buy a tree." He grimaced. "I'm not sure though," he said as he inspected the fake trees on display. "Seems a bit… fake."

"They're fake trees Rogers. They're more economical than live ones. You just put it in a box after Christmas is over and take it out next year. No hassle, no paying fifty dollars for a thing you'll just toss into the trash come New Year."

"Someone is being a Scrooge," he said, his tone teasing. "Do you hate Christmas or something? You didn't seem to mind it so much last year."

"I…" she frowned, thinking about last year. "You know what Thor did after we left?" she picked up another knickknack, an elf with a smiling face and rosy cheeks. She set it back down on the stand. "What about this tree? It's nice and looks realistic."

"I'm not paying two hundred dollars for a plastic tree. I rather pay fifty dollars and get a live one." He shoved his hands into his arm pits. She had come to recognized that as him closing off from the situation. "And what did Thor do?"

"He took his Yule Log and started a bonfire on the Tower's Quinjet landing pad." She smirked, it widened upon seeing his blush. She figured out at the party last year he was weak for her smirk. It seemed that he was still weak for it. "Someone called the NYFD and the Fire Chief had a little chat with Tony."

"Explains why Thor wasn't invited for the Presidential Christmas Dinner last week," he said, looking at one of the less realistic trees. "Idunno, Natasha, I just… it's a fake tree. Didn't you ever have a Christmas tree? Gone out to pick one?"

"Like you have?" she arched a brow. She had gone Christmas tree hunting once or twice with Clint and his kids. It was cold, messy, with Cooper and Lila prone to sibling bickering. Clint and Laura ended up cranky, especially Clint when he had to foot a fifty-dollar bill for a stupid tree that would be dead in a month. Then there was the gift shop and the whining for treats and the new ornaments for the tree. The last time it had been rainy, so the ground was muddy, and Clint got mud all over himself as he got down on his side to cut the tree down.

Then getting it home was a hassle as she and Clint manhandled the poor tree into the house with Laura shouting at Lila and Cooper to help her get the Christmas boxes down from the attic and find the tree stand and would someone for the love of God get a gallon of water. Setting the tree up straight, this part Cooper and Lila took an active part in and they enjoyed tightening the screws down to hold the tree in place. Then Clint bitched about untangling the lights, she helped Laura with the other boxes while the children complained and fought over who was going to put up what ornaments this year. After several hours of fighting and shouting ("Cooper, be nice to your sister!" "Lila don't antagonize your brother!" "Both of you knock it off otherwise Santa will skip our house this year!") the tree was up and decorated. Cooper was too big for Clint to lift, so he hoisted Lila onto his shoulders and she placed the star on top. She always felt like a third wheel, watching the Bartons cheer as Lila topped the tree. All that for a pretty temporary house plant. It didn't matter how many times Lila called her "Auntie Nat" or Clint insisted she belonged, this was a private family ritual and she always felt like she was intruding, tracking darkness and blood through it.

"I have," Steve said, sounding defensive. "One of the nurses Mam worked with, her husband's brother owned a tree lot, he'd let us get a tree at a discount." He had that smile on his face, a melancholic upturn of his lips. He wore that when he thought of Peggy, after he got back from visiting her (she had taken to driving him some times to Peggy's nursing home and then taking him to get Russian comfort food). It was a longing smile, him wanting to go back to the way things were, to his time; to go  _home_. "When I was little, Mam and I would carry the tree back to our place, but when I got bigger I would do it myself. Wasn't the prettiest tree on the lot, skinny and scrawny and not filled out. Kinda like me" — he gave her another smile, one she couldn't quiet read — "but Mam said it had heart. She said it didn't matter what it looked like so long as it had heart." He picked up an ornament with a boy and his mother singing. "Guess she was talking about me in a way."

"She was right," she said. He gave her another smile and set the ornament down. "I don't remember much of my life before the Red Room, but we had New Year's trees."

"New Year's trees?" he arched a brow. She nodded, smiling at the thought. They never had a real tree, the land lord forbade it, instead her father would cut out a tree from rare green paper and they'd tape paper circles and stars to it. Come New Year's Day she'd fine a few presents, mostly ballet magazines but some clothing items too, beneath its papery branches. She had loved the little paper tree taped to the wall. Warmed by the love of her father and grandmother, it was one of the few happy memories she had of her childhood.

"It's how the government rebranded Christmas trees after the Bolshevik Revolution. New Year's trees." She stopped in front of a tree, it was silver with white lights. It was a bit taller than him, perfect for his apartment and was only a hundred and fifty dollars. "It's not two hundred," she said. He frowned. "Oh, what's wrong with this one?"

"It's silver. Christmas trees aren't silver." He sighed, big broad shoulders rising and falling as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I dunno, Natasha. I just, a fake tree doesn't feel like Christmas."

"Think of it this way Rogers," she said, "a real tree is a hassle. You have to chop it down and then keep it watered, plus it sheds needles. After the holidays you just throw the dead thing out, so that's a waste of how much money you spent on the damn thing. On top of that setting it up is a hassle, you have to get the tree stand and screw it down and make sure there is enough towels to catch overflows of water. Then the lights and—"

"Don't call me that," he said.

"Don't call you what?"

"Rogers. You call me Rogers when you're annoyed or upset with me," he said, "don't."

She arched a brow, surprised that was his takeaway. "Okay, but real trees are such a hassle, and there is no way we'll find one so close to Christmas. Which is tomorrow," she said.

"I saw a lot on the way, had plenty of trees left, nice ones too." His lips turned up in a shit-eating grin. "We can go there. It's on the way back to my place."

Damn it, Rogers! "Steve—"

"C'mon, Nat" — he flushed — "N-Natasha, I meant Natasha." He shook his head. "Anyway, let's go and get a real tree. It'll show you that it's not all that bad."

It took all her training to keep her expression neutral. She liked it when he called her Nat. It felt intimate in a unique way, as if he considered a fast friend. She huffed. "Just—" it was tempting to give in and let him buy the tree that made him happy, but he had asked her to help him get decorations last year and that was all the Christmas tree was: a decoration. "Look, I'll buy the damn thing if you don't want to. Trust me, once you done a fake tree for a few years you'll realize nothing beats a fake tree."

"No, no, I'll buy this one," he said, gesturing to the realistic tree. "Don't really have time to take care of a live tree, either." He sounded defeated. "Too busy. And like you said, Christmas is tomorrow. A real tree is best gotten at the beginning of the season."

She nodded, though she didn't feel happy about this victory. "Have you tried asking Marcia out? That Spanish girl?" She smirked at him and he looked awkward and uncomfortable again. "Bet she'd like it if you took her ice skating."

"Not really interested," he said, flagging down a clerk. She folded her arms over her chest. "Thanks though."

"What about Danielle from logistics? Sure, she wouldn't mind a walk to look at the Christmas lights. She loves Christmas, have you seen her?"

"Not ready that much festive cheer." He spoke with the clerk, who nodded and went in the back to get the boxed-up version of the two-hundred-dollar tree. "Why the sudden interest with my love life?"

At least he didn't say non-existent. "Nobody should be alone on Christmas, Steve. Toldja that last year." She watched him hand over the money. The clerk was a bit surprised he paid in cash, thankfully there was no one else besides them in the store. He thanked the clerk and took the box, before flashing her a grin.

"But I'm not alone," he said, and bumped his hip against hers. "I have you." His smile was warm and open, inviting her into his world and life. She shook her head.

"You need someone other than me, Steve. We're just friends." She swallowed, the last two words sticking in her throat. Just friends. She liked him, liked him a lot but there could never be a romance between them. He was in a sense her commanding officer, she was his subordinate. Fraternization was against Shield policy, though she had a feeling Fury would look the other way considering she and Steve are his two best agents. The kiss beneath the mistletoe at Stark's party was a memory she locked away and tried to forget about (especially Bruce's inane prophecy about them getting married); yet in the dark moments of the night when her nightmares assaulted her, she imagined Steve's lips on her (and on other parts of her), kissing away her tears and telling her beautiful words to chase the darkness away. "Just friends."

He sighed as if he carried the world on his shoulders. "Right." He let her push the door open for him and the cold air hit them like a welcoming punch in the gut from the stuffy overbearing heat of the Christmas shop. She zipped up her jacket and put her gloves on. He set the box down and pulled his wool pea coat on, buttoning up and putting on his scarf and gloves and pushed the beanie down over his head to cover his ears. She watched him as he scooped up the box.

"Don't like the cold?" she quipped.

"Well, spend seventy years in ice and tell me how you like it." He winked. She laughed, tugging up her coat collar to hide the flush on her cheeks. The city was picture perfect for Christmas: garlands of evergreen boughs hung on the lampposts and door frames, Nutcrackers and polar bears stood in the windows of various shops, flags with  _Merry Christmas_  and  _Season's Greets_  hung on the lampposts below the evergreen boughs. Christmas lights everywhere and the National Mall had the giant National Christmas tree already up and lit. She could feel the festivities in the air, mingled with the chill of snow and winter. She carried the bags from Hallmark and Steve carried the box containing his new tree. Their Shield badges got them a free ride on the bus to his apartment complex. They didn't say much, Steve hummed Christmas songs and she debated if she get him something or not (she got Clint something and sent everyone else — minus Steve — Christmas cards).

"Any plans for after we set up the decorations?" she asked as they approached his apartment building. He buzzed in, the ringing loud and harsh, the door opened, he held it for her and she slipped in and he followed.

"I was hoping you'd stay and we can have a nice Christmas dinner. I found an entire chicken for nine dollars," he said, sounding a bit awed at the price. "Could've gotten it cheaper back in the day."

"Well, you have to adjust for inflation, Steve," she said as the climbed the stairs. "But are you sure one chicken can feed the both of us."

"Oh, I got two," he said. "I could polish off an entire chicken on my own." He grinned. "Maybe we can go to Midnight Mass like we did last year?"

"You're going to Midnight Mass?" she asked, surprised that he'd do that again. Last year it was understandable, he had only been out of the ice for a handful of months and he wanted something that felt familiar in this uncanny alien world. He shrugged.

"Yeah, I went every year when I was a kid, all the way up until I joined the Army." He frowned. "We even had a small service in the Army, if… if it was safe of course." They reached his floor, which was the third. His neighbour came out; Natasha glared at Agent 13. "Kate!" Steve said, brightening at the sight of the woman. Natasha's frowned deepened.

"Steve, what's… this?" she asked, looking at the box he held. Natasha glared icy daggers at the other woman. Fury had pissed her off when he assigned another agent (especially Agent 13 of all people — did Fury even  _realize_  who Agent 13 was related to?) to protect Steve. She was his partner and liaison into the 21st Century, she was almost glued to his hip (it wouldn't be the first time someone mistook her for his girlfriend as they wandered DC), he didn't need Sharon Carter, hovering over him.

"A Christmas tree," he said, grimacing, "it's fake."

"Oh, no." Sharon wrinkled her nose, Natasha hated the fact that it made her look cute and the fact that Steve laughed a little. "I hate fake trees. They're so dull and tacky."

"I know," he said, shooting her a brief glare. She glared right back. "I always had a real tree growing up."

"I bet they didn't have fake trees back in your day."

"Nah." He shook his head. "We had the real deal. Well, someone" — he shot her another glare — "said I should try doing it the modern way."

Sharon nodded, glancing at her with a challenging look. For her part, she lifted her chin and tilted her head in a curious dog fashion, narrowing her eyes a bit. She stepped closer to Steve, trying to hint at that Steve was hers and Sharon can kindly fuck off back to her little creepy spy apartment. "You gonna decorate it?" Sharon asked, a warm smile on her face.

"Yeah, Natasha and I are," he said. "We're gonna decorate the apartment actually, so if you'd like to come and—"

"Actually," she said, jumping in before Steve could finish or Sharon could commit. "I'm sure  _Kate_  has a busy schedule, and we don't want to take up too much of her time, now do we Steve?"

"Uh…"

"My schedule isn't that busy," Sharon said, "I'd be more than—"

"I'm sure we can manage without you," she said, giving Sharon a blithe smile, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a jerk of her head. "It was so kind of you to offer. I'm so glad Steve has a kindhearted neighbour like you, I'm sure you read all about him in the papers."

"Oh… erm… yeah, I did," Sharon said, the smile falling from her face a little bit. Good, let her fear me, I'm Black Widow and Captain America is— "So happy to know you're helping him adjust."

"Yeah, Nat" — he cleared his throat — "Natasha's great. She's been helping me a lot. Would've been lost without her."

"Awesome," Sharon said, it sounded fake and forced. Her smile widened when the blonde woman retreated back into her apartment. She gloated while Steve unlocked the door.

"You don't have to be so catty to Kate," he grumbled as he hauled the tree inside, she followed, kicking the door close with her heel.

"I wasn't being catty, Steve," she said.

"You were, and you should apologize for being rude." He gave her a disapproving look as he took off his beanie and gloves. "I like her," he said, "and I don't appreciate you being rude to her."

She set her mouth in a line, swallowing and keeping her expression neutral. The sudden desire to expose Sharon for what she was overwhelming. The reasoning behind it was petty, exposing Sharon would turn Steve off, creating a void that she would fill and— she shook her head. She learned long ago that love was for children, that she could never have a happily ever after. "You should ask Hayley out, she works in IT. Said you have pretty blue eyes." She cocked a brow, a tiny smile spreading on her lips. "She's nicer than Kate."

He scowled and for the first time she felt like she had overstepped some unwritten rule; the way he tore off his coat made her flinch. "Is there something about Kate you're not telling me?" he asked, his voice curt. "Do you  _know_  Kate?"

"First time I met her," she said, "and you're right, I was being judgmental. I shouldn't have assumed that Kate wasn't nice."

The tension eased from his shoulders a bit, and he gave her a small little smile. "She is. We talk sometimes in the hall. I've asked her out for coffee. She uh… hasn't accepted." He frowned. "Says she's really busy at the hospital."

Of course she is. She set the bags down, taking off her own outer garments and hanging them upon the hooks by his door. He went down the hall where his record player was and in a few moments Bing Crosby was crooning Christmas songs, his iconic voice filled the apartment and the drab manufactured feel of Steve's apartment brightened just a bit. She began pulling out the decorations: a snowman salt and pepper shaker with a tooth pick holder for his hat, a few throw pillows with Santa and snowflakes, the entire Willow Tree Nativity scene and various other knickknacks and a bunch of ornaments, most came from the Keepsake premium and holiday lines. Steve came out with a few boxes, their haul from last year's after Christmas sales. He pulled out garlands of fake evergreen boughs, a balancing metal Santa on his reindeer, a Christmas village starter kit (along with several additions) and strings of LED Christmas lights. He whistled while he worked, and she was surprised on how in key he was.

The minutes ticked by, Bing Crosby faded to Louis Armstrong's signature raspy voice as he sang  _It's A Wonderful World_. Steve went back to flip the record or change it, Jazz Age greats playing Christmas music or the face pace beats of swing. She found her foot tapping along, the dance moves playing out in her head. The rhythm of swing was intoxicating, and she could imagine him, fleet of foot with a flushed face and a mile-wide grin at a dance hall, enjoying himself the way every young man did back in the 40s. With each new song the apartment felt more like Steve's home, had a deeper feel of Christmas. "So," she said, setting one of the ladies for the Christmas village down, "favorite dance?"

"Oh, uh…" he looked up from the paper directions for the Christmas tree, he said something that she couldn't hear.

"Didn't catch that, Rogers," she said, setting more figurines down. The village was beautiful, mimicking a rustic mid-Victorian town, with snow and children and all sorts of festive decorations. It was different from Clint's, chipped and worn with some pieces broken and glued back together, a clear sign that children had not heeded their parents' warnings and with gleeful eagerness played with the porcelain figures. "What do you think? Pretty nice huh." She heard him get up and shuffle his way over.

"Yeah, looks real nice Natasha," he said. She noticed his pink cheeks. "Now we just have to get the tree up." He frowned at the crumbled directions in his hand. "I can't believe you talked me into getting a fake tree. Never had a fake tree before."

"Once you get used to it you'll love it," she said as she went to peer at the tree in the box. He had strung lights all around the main living space of his apartment; his shield was propped up against the banister, glaringly patriotic amongst the Christmas decorations almost as if Steve couldn't quiet shake the Fourth of July. "What about here?" she asked, standing in front of the window that lead to his tiny balcony. "It's opposite the Christmas village and doesn't block the tv."

He bit his lip. "I just… I'm not sure, Natasha," he said, wiggling his hands into his pockets and in doing so pushing his jeans down further on his narrow hips; she ran the tip of her tongue along her teeth. "It's a  _fake_  tree."

"Stop getting hung up on technicalities," she said, walking between his coffee table and couch. "It'll look nice and festive. Plus, you got an ultra-realistic one," she added. "Where do you keep your bedsheets?"

"I don't know why we need one," he said, pulling the tree out. "You keep telling me it's a fake tree."

"Rogers."

He sighed as he set the tree down on the couch. "Bedroom closet, top shelf to the left, towards the window."

"Thanks." She went down the hall and into his bedroom, passing the generic landscape paintings that Shield felt brightened his apartment. She knew he was an artist, and she figured he'd hang his own work or work of artists he liked on his walls not this subpar photography. His bedroom was bleak and bland, no pictures hung on the walls and it had a cold just-moved-in feel to it. His made his bed with neat militaristic precision and on the nightstand with his lamp was a few items. She glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't coming to see what was taking her so long. He wasn't, and she went over to his night stand. A small worn bible with a rosary, she flipped the crucifix over noting the name of the church from which he got it, the bible also had the church's name on it. She knew his faith comforted him, it being timeless and familiar.

An old US Army issued compass sat there, she picked it up and opened it. A faded newspaper clipping of a pretty young woman tucked into the top. She twisted about, making a little curious sound over the fact that the compass still worked. She set that down and looked at the three pictures. The woman, a young man with slick back hair and a suave grin, and a group of men in a hodge-podge collection of military uniforms. She recognized British infantry, French resistance and American GIs. The realization stuck in her throat, these people were the ones he left behind. The woman must be Peggy Carter; so different from the dying old woman he visited in the nursing home.

She closed her eyes, sympathy coiling in her gut and chilling her bones. He stared at the faces of those he loved and lost every night: the last thing he saw at night and the first thing he saw in the morning. The pain twisted like a knife in her heart, how willfully blind she was to his pain, how he was suffering. She should have noticed it beforehand; she suffered too, was still suffering, from her time in the Red Room. It was shameful though, the last year with him laid bare as her mind raced along Steve's behavior, how he had good days and bad days, sometimes he'd drift through the work week half there, caught up in his past. How he tried to hide the dark circles beneath his eyes from his insomnia, that distant thousand-yard stare whenever someone talked to him. The paling of his cheeks as a sudden flashback took hold whenever a car backfired, or they entered the gun range. He was jumpier somedays and more subdued the next, and the most obvious tell that she should have picked up on (because she did the same thing for a while after Clint saved her) was his willingness to take risks with a high probability of bodily harm, jumping out of an airplane without a parachute seemed to be his favorite. The behavior was subtle, and most people would miss it if they weren't intimately familiar with his behavior, but she noticed.

And did nothing. "Some friend I am," she hissed. He needed her, and she offered him the barest of comfort. Just enough for him to feel comfortable around her, but not enough for him to confined in her. Clint had been there for her when she needed help adjusting to a life without the rigid control that the Red Room imposed on her. What did she do for Steve? Hung out with him and eased him into the 21st Century but being there for him and helping him feel less like a man in exile (which he was) … nope. He had put on a stalwart soldiering face, smiled and said he was fine and she believed him, like an idiot, she believed him. No wonder he's so found of Sharon, she probably showed a bit of a damn for him. She turned away from the nightstand and opened his closet, chuckling at the clothes that hung up in the closet. At least she helped him dress less like an old man and he had a few shirts that fit him properly now.

"Natasha? You doing okay in there? Did you find them?" Steve called. She looked up and found the sheets, pristine and white and folded with the same militaristic neatness.

"Yeah, got them," she said and pulled one out. "Be out in a minute." She closed the closet and headed back into the living room. He was standing by the tree, in all its plastic manufactured glory. It felt wrong next to him, with the rest of the Christmas decorations. It felt like the rest of his apartment: fake, bland, manufactured, void of personality. This wasn't him. It was tacky, something she chosen for him because  _this was how we do it now_. Christmas was a time of tradition, of preserving tradition. "No."

"What?" he frowned. "What do you mean no?"

"Put it back, we're going to the tree lot and getting you a tree." She set the sheet on the couch. I need to be a better friend to him, a better person for him. "You're right, it doesn't feel like Christmas without a real tree."

He looked around. "Where is the real Natasha and what did you do with her?" he quipped. She bit the inside of both cheeks to keep from smiling, but the way his eyes brightened she knew this had been the right choice. Even if she was changing her mind. "You sure about this? I mean, it is a nice fake tree. Spent two hundred dollars on it."

"I'm sure, Steve. We can use it next year or something."

"We?" he arched a brow. She cleared her throat, berating herself for letting it slip, for coming to associate the holiday season with being around him. That they did Christmas together; that it felt  _right_  spending Christmas with him, as if she always belonged.

" _You_ ," she said, "you can use it next year."

He shrugged. "Alright," he said, wrangling the tree back into shape for boxing up. "If you insist." He put it back in the box and closed it, pushing the tree beneath the coffee table. "Shall we ma'am?" he gestured to the door. She laughed, heading that way and bundling up again. For a moment she thought about grabbing his scarf and wrapping it around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss the way she seen the women do on the Hallmark Christmas movies, but she didn't, instead she watched him. "Ready?" he asked, once he had bundled himself up again. She nodded, and they headed to the tree lot.

* * *

Overhead the sky was a wintery steel grey, fat snowflakes falling in lazy zigzags towards earth. The tree lot was large for the city with plenty of plump viridian Christmas trees. The calming smell of pine filled her nose, covering the stink of the city. In her hands she held hot cider. "This is real good," Steve said as they wandered through the rows of trees; the lot even had tree stands, and the owner even set aside one for them.

"You know they just heated up apple juice," she said, drinking hers. "Added some cinnamon and cloves."

"Stop ruining the fantasy," he chided, bumping her hip with his. "Seriously, you… well last Christmas you weren't so scroogey."

"That's not even a word, Steve."

"Is too, it's an… adjective. An adjective, to describe someone that is very ba-humbug during the Christmas season."

"You made that up, it's not a word."

"No, I didn't" — he placed his hand over his heart — "scout's honor. It's a real world." He smiled.

"We'll see," she said, unable to stop the smile from spreading across her face. She took another sip of her drink. "What about this tree?" she asked, stopping in front of a tree. It looked full and plump, bright green with healthy branches. Steve looked around, running the tip of his tongue along his upper lip. "I like it."

"It's okay," he said, after a while. His opinion sounded put-upon to her. "I'll know the right tree when I see it."

"There's a method?"

"There's always a method to madness," he said, grinning, the smiling reaching his blue eyes and with his cheeks rosy from the cold he looked handsome. She glanced at her feet. "Well, expect like… what Hydra does… there's no method to that."

"True." She moved to another tree, touching the soft delicate needles, snapping one or two to get a whiff of its scent. She almost suggested the tree but noticed the hole in the middle. She moved on, looking here and there but each of the trees seemed to have a flaw or something that made it feel imperfect.

"Never thought I see you here, Romanoff, looking for a tree," a nasally nasty voice said. She centered herself with a breath, before turning around and smiling at Rumlow.

"Brock," she said with false cheer in her voice, "fancy meeting you here. I thought you said you were going home for Christmas, where was it again? Athol, Idaho?"

"I'm from the Bronx," he said, narrowing his eyes. "What about you? Don't you usually go up to Barton's?"

She shrugged, keeping her face neutral. She had been dealing with men like Rumlow her entire life. Arrogant and brutal, with a cruelty streak deep as the Marianna Trench. He liked being a STRIKE soldier because it allowed him to exercise a bit of that cruelty. She was pretty sure he was a sociopath. Why Shield ever felt it was okay to put a gun in this man's hand was beyond her. "I like to change things up a bit. You?"

"Possible situation developing in Mongolia," he said, rolling his shoulders, "Fury wants STRIKE on standby in case something pops."

There was a reason she was the best at what she does, the surprise didn't show on her face even though she and Steve would have gotten messages about any possible situation in Mongolia developing. "Of course, that's understandable. Too bad, I'm sure you have family in Athol—"

"Bronx, Romanoff."

"Right, right," she said, nodding and giving him a pleasant smile. She finished her cider. "Looking for a tree?"

"Why else would I be here? Have to get into the Christmas spirit."

"That's good, I'm glad you aren't as big of a scrooge as you let on, Rumlow," she said, wandering to another tree and hoping he'd take a hint. She knew he wouldn't, men like Rumlow needed a punch in the fact to get the message. Sure, enough he followed her.

"I enjoy Christmas just as much as the next person," he said, doggedly following her at her heels. She made a noncommitted noise in response, tuning out his inane chatter as she looked at trees. Once or twice he got a bit too close and she'd shoot him a glare, it pleased her to no end when he swallowed and backed off. She glanced up looking for Steve's tall frame, hoping that if Rumlow spotted Steve he'd get the message and leave alone. She'd squelch the rumors about her and Steve dating after the holidays.

"Nat!" Steve came trotting around the corner. "Nat, I found the — oh, hi Rumlow," Steve said.

"Nat?" Rumlow arched a brow as she shot Steve a glare. She appreciated his desire to give her a nickname, since that meant he considered her a friend but at the same time she wanted to maintain an air of professional decorum between them. Especially, around people like Rumlow. "Are you two dating?"

Don't blush, don't blush,  _don't blush!_  She glanced at Steve and he flushed, his face going cherry red as he glanced at his toes. "Well, we're uh—"

Rumlow snickered, clapping his hands and acting like a child with an early Christmas present. There was a mean glint in his eyes. He obeyed Steve, but there was no respect. She also felt that Rumlow was a bit scared of Steve too; the gentle giant mannerism belied his true strength. "Wow, Rogers, you move fast," he said, "gotta tell Cruz she's outta luck." He stepped closer to Steve, as if they were friends. "But seriously, why did you pick Romanoff?"

"Rumlow, back off," she said, knowing where this was going. Rumlow was trying to find Steve's buttons and he figured the fastest way to do that was make a pass at her.

"I like her," Steve said, furrowing his brow. She wanted to put herself between the two but doing that would further confirm Rumlow's belief that they were dating. She could do nothing but watch and pray that Steve kept a level head. The other man shot her a glare. "I don't see why it matters to you though, Rumlow."

"Oh, it doesn't," he said. "I just… want you to be aware about her" — he gave Steve a pitying look but saved the nasty smirk for her — "she's been passed around the office."

Now Steve looked confused and insulted. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, taking a step back from Rumlow. She itched to put a bullet in Rumlow's head, just to make him shut up, to stop him from poisoning Steve's opinion of her.

"You know," Rumlow said, and thrust his hips in an erotic fashion. "Everyone." He gave a nonchalant shrug. "I mean, she was a spy and assassin, how do you think she got close enough to kill her marks?" He flashed Steve a grin. "Hate to see someone like you date used goods like her."

Used goods. The insult stung, reducing her to a simple whore, a dimwitted slut who's only usefulness was for a good fuck. Her throat tightened as she swallowed down her tears. She knew Rumlow was a cruel bastard, but he could be downright nasty when he wanted to be. She tried to put her past behind her, be something more than the seducing killer the Red Room made her, but it seemed that is all anyone ever cared to remember about her. It hurt that he was telling this to Steve. She looked away when she felt Steve's eyes on her, not wanting him to see how ashamed she was, how much Rumlow's words hurt her.

"Shit!" Rumlow shouted, snapping her gaze back to the two men. Steve looked murderous, his eyes chips of ice and Rumlow was clutching his face. "You hit me!"

"I'll do a lot more than that if you don't apologize," he growled, grabbing Rumlow by the collar of his coat. "Now apologize to Natasha." Giving Rumlow a little shake as he held him a good six inches off the ground.

"Like hell man!" Rumlow yelped when Steve tossed him to the ground, groaning at the impact. He towered over the down man, hands clenched into fists. She knew Steve could kill Rumlow with a few well-placed blows, but she also knew Steve was a good man and a good man didn't kill just because he could. Rumlow didn't know that though. He paled, eyes wide in fear. Steve used every ounce of muscle and every inch of height he had to cow Rumlow. "Alright, alright," he said. "Sorry."

"Not to me" — he jerked his head toward her — "to her." His eyes narrowed. "And mean it."

Rumlow looked at her and swallowed, "sorry," he said. Steve growled, animalistic and low in his throat. "Sorry, I'm sorry I called you uh… a whore."

She let out a breath, the hurt unwinding from her heart. Rumlow didn't mean it, not a single syllable, but if she didn't acquiesce this could come to blows. "Apology accepted."

"Go." Steve said, and she watched Rumlow scramble to his feet, jogging away. He looked at his knuckles and shook his hand. "You okay?" he asked, warm concern in his eyes. He shot a glance in the direction Rumlow took. "Can't he believe he said that about you." He shook his head. "Nobody says that about my best girl to my face." He pulled her into a brief hug. She could smell his cologne: cypress and cedar, a fresh woodsy scent with earthy notes, sharp and crisp. She shuddered, enjoying the smell a tad too much. Thankfully, he mistook her shudder for that of relief. "It's okay Nat."

"You need to uh… curtail it on calling me Nat." She pulled away, smiling at him. "I appreciate it, but… please, just Natasha."

"Right, sorry." He flushed, a quirky smile on his face.

"So, this perfect tree?" she looked at him, watching his face light up again. "Wanna show me?"

"Yeah! This way," he said, taking her hand and showing her the tree.

* * *

The tree was indeed perfect, full and plump with no holes. They bought it and carried it out, heading back to his place. "Steve, let me have some of the weight," she said as they walked along the street. People glanced at them, annoyed that they insisted on lugging the tree on the overcrowded sidewalk. They tried to get on the bus but the bus drive shook his head.

"I got it, I don't need your help." He had one hand wrapped around the center of the tree, the other holding the tree stand. He made carrying both appear effortless; she knew both weight next to nothing for him.

"I know you got it, but we can give away that you're… well you," she said, tugging at the top of the tree. "C'mon, let me help carry it." She didn't need a swarm of paparazzi and over eager fans swarming them, ruining their blissful anonymity. She shot him a glare and gave the top of the tree another firm tug.

"I got it." He smiled at her, refusing.

"Stop being stubborn." She hunched her shoulders as they walked along the sidewalk, people giving them a wide berth, some shaking their heads and muttering about their rudeness. "C'mon Steve."

"You're the stubborn one." He refused to share any of the burden with her. Typical of him as she was coming to learn. He tended to carry the world on his shoulders, bottling up his problems and shouldering them alone. "I'm fine. These things aren't even heavy."

"Excuse me for trying to spare you the paparazzi," she seethed, tugging again on the top of the tree. "And I know they aren't heavy to you, but other people don't know that."

"We're doing a fine job then." He smiled at the people as they walked by. "Would stop tugging at the top, you'll make it difficult for the star to sit right."

"I think I'm pretty recognizable with or without feats of strength."

"Your impossible." She rolled her eyes, quelling her complaints for now since it would do her no good to argue further with him. "You have a star?"

"Yup," he said, "I bought it last year on sale." They stopped at the crosswalk, she hit the button and they waited for the green figure to appear. She gave people blithe smiles as they looked at her and Steve with raised brows. The walk sign appeared, and they marched across, retracing their steps back to his apartment, the sky was beginning to darken as the sun began to set behind the clouds, the snow still coming down. "You still going to Clint's this year?"

"May have to call him when we reach your place, don't know if I'll be able to make it out of the city before the snow sets in." She shook her head when a snowflake alighted on her nose, the little blast of could making her shiver.

"Oh, well… if you can't you're welcome to stay at my place, we can go to Midnight Mass and then come home and keep each other warm."

Her eyes widen at that, imagining Steve naked before her, his hands roaming her body and mouth memorizing all the dips and curves of her skin. She did that once, long ago, with Alexi… before he died. And once with James, before the KGB found them and they had to flee into the night in opposite directions. "Ubiraysya iz kanavy, Romanov," she grumbled beneath her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing Steve," she said, "and if it ends up that way, I don't mind crashing at your place for the night. We still need to wrap presents."

"Already did that, sent Tony and Bruce's gifts already to them, was going to give you yours and Clint's to take with you," he said. She shot him a glance over her shoulder, noting the pleased smile he had on his face. "I like to get things done early."

"I see that." His apartment complex came into view, his bike in a protective canvas covering, his car parked next to it. Snow was covering both items. They stood horizontally to the door, so he could buzz them in and in they went, walking up the stairs and pass Sharon's door and to the end of the hall. Thankfully, the other woman wasn't out. Clint, however, was standing at Steve's door with a red envelop in hand and a box, she noted the awkward expression in his eyes before it vanished and was replaced with his cool neutral perception. "Clint, hi, wasn't expecting you."

"Wasn't expecting me either," he quipped, a smile flashing across his face. "How you doing, Steve?"

"Not bad, cold outside."

"Usually is when it's snowing," he said. "Is that a real tree?" he gestured to the tree between them and gave her a curious look. "You convinced her to get a real tree?"

"Well… in her defense she convinced me to get a fake tree," Steve said, offering the tree stand to Clint. "Hold this, I'll let us in so we aren't standing in the hall."

"Gotcha," Clint said, giving a small grunt as he accepted the heavy weight of the tree stand. "You carried this all the way from the lot."

"Clint, did you forget who he is?" she asked, her tone teasing as Steve opened the door. Clint went in first, then her and Steve brought up the rear. He nudged the door close with his shoulder. The door boomed shut, shattering the quiet of his apartment. She and Clint stared at him and his ears went pink.

"Sorry," he said, sounding sheepish. "Just put it down where the sheet is Clint." Her friend nodded and he sat it down. She let go of the tree, Steve handling it just fine on his own and he set the tree in the stand. "Can someone tell me if its straight?"

Time honed skills in this department had her and Clint telling Steve which way to push or pull the tree until looked centered, Clint was better at it than her, and it only took a few minutes for them to get it straight. Then they dove for the base. "I'm going to win," she said, twisting the two screws on her side.

"Nah, gonna beat you, been doing this since I was a kid."

"Wanna bet Barton?" her fingers twisting the screws faster, he laughed, their little competition. "Loser…"

"Kisses Steve?" he quipped, she stopped. Clint waggled his brows and she shot him a furious icy glare. "Cause, I'm not gonna be the one losing."

She growled, twisting her screws faster, hoping to make up for lost time. "Bud' ty proklyat, Clint," she hissed, when he laughed and declared himself the winner. "Ya ne tseluyu yego."

"A bet is a bet," Clint said as he wiggled out from beneath the tree.

"It wasn't a bet, there was nothing to gain from winning, besides would you have kissed him if you had lost."

"Sorry, but I already have a significant other," he said and flashed her his left ring finger, the tattooed band around his finger the only indication of his marital status. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, wriggling out from beneath the tree. Steve had untangled the left over Christmas lights, a mish-mash of white and colored lights.

"This took longer than I thought," he said, "need to buy more white lights."

"Didn't you guys used to use candles?" Clint asked, taking one end of the string of lights and winding it around the Christmas tree. She grabbed the section Steve was holding, feeding it to Clint as he walked around the tree. It felt natural, doing this with him. She almost expected Lila and Cooper to come screaming into the living room with Laura behind them carrying a huge box of Christmas decorations. Instead Steve let out a forlorn sigh.

"Yeah," he said, "we did." He was silent for a few moments and she spared him a glance. He looked sad, troubled, caught up in the Christmases of his past. "Though lights are safer, no risk of the tree catching fire." He smiled, it didn't reach his eyes. "So… I'm happy for that."

"Yeah," Clint agreed as she handed him the last length of lights. He finished winding it around the tree and plugged it in. The tree burst into a bloom of white and colored lights. She always found the colored lights to be tacky, preferring the softer white lights. "Not bad."

"It's perfect," Steve said and went over to where they had stashed the ornaments. "You two can decorate, I'll put some music on and start dinner."

"Wait, you're gonna cook?" Clint asked. "I thought you could only make stuffing and those apple things?"

She arched a brow at Clint. "Baked apples." She pulled a box from her bag, it was the Christmas angel he had given her last year. The glossy porcelain and golden wings shimmered in the light of the tree, it had a crown of holy in its hair and it held a dove, a kind warm smile on its face. She cradled the angel in her hands, remembering how Steve gave it to her at Church, how they sang  _Silent Night_  together; his rich tenor harmonizing with her higher and sweeter mezzo-soprano range. The way he had looked at her as they sang the last lines, his eyes so full of love and happiness. She had held onto that memory, using it to warm her when she felt the demons of her past bearing down on her. Even then, he had known vague details, stuff that he read from her Shield file, what he was able to pry from Clint, and what she had told him. Still, he looked at her like that that night. It was one of the few happy memories she had. She hung the angel up near the top of the tree. "Do you think this is a good spot?" she asked, drawing Steve and Clint's attention to her.

"It's okay," Clint said, sounding indifferent to the angel's location. Steve beamed though, as if she had done him a huge honor by hanging her ornament upon his tree.

"It's perfect, Nat — I mean, Natasha." His tongue darted over his lips, ears turning pink. "Perfect spot Natasha." Steve didn't notice Clint shooting her a look, she answered it with one of her own. Her friend's expression went blank and she wondered what he was thinking. There was nothing going on between her and Steve. Steve just liked giving nicknames. She figured it was how he determined close friendships. "Well, I'll be in the kitchen, just holler if you need me," he said, patting Clint on the back. He paused briefly at the record player, turning it on and Christmas carols and old timey Christmas songs filled the room. The static of the record player gave it a vintage feel and she could imagine Steve spending Christmas like this back in his day, with his lost friends.

She and Clint began to decorate the tree with gusto. She liked the Hallmark ornaments the best, but they did pick up some glass globes and some other more vintage Christmas ones. Amongst the clank and clatter of pots and pans, drifting over and harmonizing with the record was Steve's voice, a warm rich tenor that warmed her soul. "Okay, what's with him calling you 'Nat'? I thought only I called you Nat?"

"He gives nicknames to close friends." She shrugged. "I've told him to just call me Natasha." She hung a wreath ornament on one of the branches, before picking up a little reindeer.

"Uh-huh." Clint was silent, selecting ornaments and hanging them, formulating his next question. "So how long have you been pining for him."

She choked on her spit. "I'm not pining," she growled, "it's undignified." She lifted her chin. "I'm—"

"—Black Widow; and you don't  _pine_  after your marks, forgot." He hung a few more and nudged her. "C'mon, don't stop now. Gotta make this tree look nice, besides you still have to kiss him."

"I'm not doing it, Clint. It was a stupid bet and we didn't even agree on anything in the case of me winning, ergo the bet is moot." Steve's singing drifted through the apartment, in perfect key with the record. She smiled, there was an Irish lilt to his singing, it was uniquely him.

"Bet's a bet." She could have punched him. "I brought some fake mistletoe if you—"

"No." She gave him her best icy glare. He blinked, shrugged and went back to hanging ornaments. "Just lay off it Clint."

"You haven't had a decent date since 2010. He's nice, wholesome, gentlemanly" — Clint dropped his voice — "Captain America—"

"And I'm Black Widow. A soldier and a spy, we don't mix. He's everything I'm not. It won't work. We're better off friends." Steve began to sing along to  _Jingle Bell Rock_ , the song post-dated him, but the record must've been a collection of original contemporary classics.

"I can tell he likes you."

"He likes you-know-who down the hall." She jerked her head to the front door. "It's pathetic in a way, knowing she's lying to him and he's eating it up like a sap. He actually buys her cover story. I think he even said he tried asking her out once or twice."

"Well, considering who she's related to, I wouldn't be surprised he has the hots for her — Ow." Clint rubbed his ribs. "You hit hard."

"You don't find it creepy?"

"Never said that. Just said I'm not surprised." Clint hung a few more ornaments. "But I think he likes you better."

"We're friends Clint." She hung another ornament, her mind wanderin and wondering if Clint was right about Steve liking her better than Sharon. Of course, she knew it was impossible, Steve was just a nice guy, being friendly was his default interacting mode with people. He didn't like her. He liked Sharon, she saw it. How his pupils dilated a little bit when they ran into her earlier today. He's attracted to her. That may be true, but it could just be skin deep, she thought.

"If you're worried about what happened to Kyle happening to him then—"

"Clint drop it, I'm not… whatever you think I am with Steve. We're friends. Partners." She smiled. "Like we were." She looked towards the kitchen, smiling as she heard Steve sing  _and we all want some figgey pudding and we won't go until we get some!_

"I remember you and I had a fling."

"Stop."

"Okay, okay." Clint raised his hands in surrender. She glowered at him and went back to decorating. Clint, however, was determined to be a pain in her ass tonight. "Did you tell him about tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Christmas" — she shot him a withering glare — "I think he knows about Christmas."

"I meant the other thing. The one that you said: if I so much as breathe a word to it to anyone, you will kill me and make sure my body is never found." He set a baby Jesus ornament on the tree. "That other thing."

"No. And I will never. I'll take the secret to my grave."

"I bet he'd like it if you told him. I mean I brought a card and—" he stopped when they heard an undignified squawk echo through the apartment. They both looked towards the kitchen, Steve had been singing, harmonizing with whomever was playing on his record player.

"Sorry," he called, "can't hit that note."

"Didn't know he could sing." Clint hung the last ornament up. She hung her last one too. The tree filled with globes and figurines, the mismatched lights glinting off them. The sight did warm her, and she knew Steve would be pleased with their work. "He's got a good voice."

"Yeah" — a wistful smile spread across her face, she loved it when Steve sang. Her ears always picking up whenever he hummed or whistled a tune. He always sang some Irish folksong beneath his breath as he did pre-op inspections. — "he does."

Clint leaned in close to her. "You're doing it again. Either get over this contemplation of him or tell him how you feel."

Her jaw dropped, aghast that he would suggest the latter. "I can't tell him!" she hissed. Steve had taken up singing again. She put the last ornament on the tree and sat on the couch, staring at the Christmas village and the tree and the direction to the kitchen. "I can't tell him."

"Why not?" Clint plopped down next to her. "He may stop making googly eyes at you-know-who down the hall if he knows that there is someone right here."

"Shield policy forbids fraternization."

"Fury will look the other way, you two are his best agents, well after me." He smirked, grunting when she elbowed him again.

"My past… he… he won't accept it." She looked at her knees. For Steve to know what she had done in the Red Room, the people she killed, how red her ledger was, how bloodstained her hands are… no, he'd run away from that. Shun her maybe.

"He's a WWII vet, I'm sure he's done and seen worse."

"I'm… I'm… I can't…" she looked at him, "you know my other problem."

"There's ways around that now. Plus, I heard Tony was looking into getting Dr. Helen Cho as the Avengers' leading physician, she's doing some amazing biotech and cellular regeneration. Could help."

She huffed, twisting the hem of her shirt up in her hands. "I'm… I'm not good enough for someone like him."

"Nat," Clint said, taking her hands. "I brought you home to my apartment, Laura was living with me at the time, you were broken and scared and yet I knew that deep down you were a good person. Look at how far you came from when I found you. You are a kind, compassionate woman, an Avenger, doing the right thing, fighting against evil. You saw the terrible things you did and you wished to changed. That alone makes you worthy of him. You  _are_  worthy of happiness and love, Nat, especially from him." He ran his thumb over her knuckles.

She closed her eyes, willing the tears back. It felt uncomfortable, whenever Clint exposed her too human heart. "I'm scared," she whispered, "scared that he'll accept me and it'll be too good to be true. I'll keep expecting the other shoe to drop and he'll just… just end up like the others."

"He's not going to die like Alexie or Kyle, and he's not going to vanish never to be seen again like James."

"You don't know that, Clint! You don't know that."

"No," Clint agreed, "I don't, but I do know he cares about you. I can see it. I've been in love before. I can tell when another guy's in love. And he's definitely in love."

"With a dead dream and a woman that's a liar."

"Nat, you're selling yourself short." He smiled. "You have so much to offer and I think he brings out the best in you."

She gave him a half smile, looking to the side. It made her uncomfortable how well he could read her or tell her the things she needed to hear, but then again… he wasn't codenamed Hawkeye for nothing. "Maybe…"

"At least think about it."

"Alright," she said and stood up, patting his shoulder as she went to the kitchen to see how Steve was doing. It smelled heavenly in the kitchen, with the chicken roasting and the pungent spices. The pressure cooker was whistling away as it cooked the potatoes, Steve was master of the kitchen, mixing and shaking the items on the stove, singing to the new song. "Hey."

He looked up and smiled. "C'mere, I want you to try this," he said and scooped a thick light brown sauce up with a spoon. She walked over, and he slipped the spoon into her mouth. It tasted peppery and like chicken; thick and creamy too. "Good?"

"Is that gravy?"

"Yep," he said and whisked it some more. "Made from the drippings from the chicken. We'll be ready to eat in about fifteen minutes, just need to mash the potatoes. Convection is amazing," he said, nodding to the oven, where the two plump chicken sizzled, their skin a crispy golden brown. "Then we'll open presents after we get the dishes cleaned. You going to Midnight Mass with me or going up with Clint?"

Her eyes widened. She forgot about Midnight Mass, figuring she'll hitch a ride with Clint out of DC and up to his place for Christmas festivities. "I'm… uh, not sure yet, Steve. I'll let you know after presents," she said.

"Alright." He pointed to a cabinet. "Dishes are in there, could you set the table please?" He sang a few lines as he took the potatoes off the stove and ran the hot pressure cooker beneath cold water. She grabbed the plates and silver ware, setting the table. Once done, she went back to Clint who was sticking a present beneath the tree.

"You think of everything?" she asked. He grinned and tossed her a wrapped item, nice and soft. The tag read:  _To: Steve, From: Natasha_. "Thanks."

"Already sent your gifts to Tony and Banner out week before last. Laura doesn't mind wrapping stuff for you, you know that." Clint said. "Put it under the tree." He jerked his head to it. She smiled, going over and sticking the lumpy item beneath the tree.

"I was afraid it wouldn't get to your house in time."

"Nah." He shook his head. "It did. It's real nice."

"Do you think it's too much?" she asked, biting her lip. "I didn't know what to get that didn't scream—"

"It's very nice, Nat."

"I was in his room earlier Clint… he misses them so much… it's been a year and he… I didn't notice. I didn't notice how—"

"Didn't notice or didn't want to acknowledge it?" Clint asked. She scowled. The archer shrugged. "I saw my own pain mirrored in you when I first rescued you. Unlike you, Laura pointed it out to me and sometimes you need an outside force to be like: 'hey, look at this.' Because seeing it yourself in someone else, just reminds you of your own pain."

"I'm not heartless, Clint."

He shrugged, a goofy grin on his face, the subject matters juxtaposed with the Christmas music and decorations felt wrong and out of place, but Steve was distracted and he wouldn't hear her talk about this. "Never said you were," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Just that you and him have more in common that you may think you do." He pulled her into a hug. "Give him a chance Nat. It's Christmas."

She sank into Clint's embrace, allowing the comfort he gave so willingly to wash over her for a few moments, before pulling away and looking at him. "Speaking of Christmas… would you be terribly upset if I came to your place a bit later tomorrow? I… I have to stay here for the night."

"Course not, Cooper and Lila may be a pain, but Laura stuff them full of Christmas crêpes they won't notice they haven't open presents until you get there." He winked. She laughed, smiling at the thought of heart-niece and heart-nephew eating crêpes, their faces smeared with whip cream and strawberry syrup.

"Hey, come and eat," Steve said, coming into the living room. "Oh, wow." His eyes widened at the tree. "The tree looks, p-perfect." He choked, rubbing at his eyes. "Just like Christmas back… back with my mam and Buck…"

She pulled away from Clint and wrapped her arms around Steve, hugging him. He nuzzled her neck and she could feel his tears on her skin. "Merry Christmas, Steve."

He took in a shuddering breath, his large hands with their artist fingers, clenching in her shirt. "Thank you," he whispered, "Merry Christmas."

She pulled away, smiling at him and wiped away the last of his tears. "C'mon, let's eat, you don't wanna keep Clint waiting." Both men laughed, and Steve lead them to the small dinner table he had. They sat down to a nice meal of glazed carrots, his mam's stuffing, mashed potatoes and chicken. It was more food than she and Clint could eat, Steve could maybe finish it all on his own but it looked like he may be pushing it. They ate, laughed and drink sparkling apple juice, swapped stories of their work at Shield, though their pasts remained a taboo topic. Clint shared stories about his kids, to which Steve was surprised to learn about and swore he'd keep them a secret. She was surprised he ate an entire chicken by himself. The meal wound down, good food and good cheer putting her at ease. "So what are you going to do with all the left overs?"

"Pack 'em up, eat them at my leisure," he said with a shrug. "Unless you want to take some back home Clint?"

"Sure. I'll never turn down free food."

"Did I tell you we ran into Rumlow at the tree lot?" she said, catching Clint's attention.

"No, you didn't."

"We did. He was being an ass as usual," she said and steeled herself for the next part. "He thought Steve and I were dating and asked Steve why he'd want to date me, implying I was the office slut" — Clint's smile fell into a deep angry frown — "Steve didn't like that sort of talk, so he punched Rumlow and made him apologize. Lifted him six inches off the ground."

"It was more like three… I didn't hit him that hard," Steve mumbled, "was holdin' back."

"If I misplace an arrow in his back would you tell Fury?" Clint asked. She and Steve both laughed.

"Clint," she chided, "it's Christmas, no talking about murder. Even if the victim is Brock Rumlow."

"Damn," Clint said, they laughed some more as they stood up, chairs scrapping against the wood floor and they gathered the dishes. They sang Christmas songs as they put the dishes away, Steve doing the washing (he insisted and said hand washing was faster), while she and Clint tidied up and put things away. She put a pile together for Clint to take home and once they finished, she made hot coco. She didn't have time to make the orange crème like she remembered having it on Christmas when she was a little girl, so long ago, so she put a splash of orange liquor in each cup and brought it out.

"Poor man's Russian hot chocolate," she said handing them their cups and sitting between Steve and Clint. They grinned, thanked her and took a sip. "Good, huh?" she asked, drinking hers.

"There's liquor in this isn't there?" Steve asked. "I can taste the burn, but it's good! It's real good."

"Russian hot chocolate has an orange crème on top, but I didn't have time to make it, so… orange liquor."

"It's good Nat," Clint said. He set his down and got up, grabbing two presents. "Here, open it up."

She swallowed a mouthful of hot chocolate and set her cup down, taking the item Clint handed her. Steve did the same and true to his Depression-era youth, took the wrapping off with meticulous care. "It's a box?" he looked up. Clint gave him an imploring look. He opened the box. "It's an old baseball." He frowned, taking it out of the box. Various signatures were scrawled all over the old baseball. "Freddie Fitzsimons… Tom Drake… Mickey Owen… holy hell" — Steve grinned at Clint, eyes wide — "this is the '41 roster for the Dodgers!"

"Figured you liked that, you don't know what I had to do to get it." Clint grinned, pleased with his gift. "Glad you like it."

"I love it," he said, cradling the ball in his hand. "When… Bucky and I… well, we always hoped to catch a pop fly and get the team to sign it." He rubbed at his eyes. "Thanks, Clint."

"No problem." He nudged her. "Go on, open it."

She huffed, opening the gift and smiling at the pair of pale pink satin of a fresh pair of ballet slippers. "Thanks Clint," she whispered, allowing the thick ribbon to run through her fingers.

"You dance?" Steve asked. She nodded, sucking her lip. "Didn't know you dance."

"Yes, I'm a ballerina," she said, she gave the slippers a bitter smile. "Maybe I'll show you sometimes. I could teach you how to dance if you want."

"Oh, I uh… maybe," he mumbled. He got up and gave them their gifts. Clint got a snow globe of the Fellowship of the Ring. "Do you like it?"

"Next time, ask Nat for gifts for me," he grumbled, looking at it. "But…" he sighed. "Thanks Steve. Guess it was either this or a new quiver."

"Pretty much." He looked at her next. She opened the box, another ornament, another angel.  _Keepsake_  stamped on the box and the year on top. She heard him swallow.

"It's beautiful, Steve," she said. "I love it." She took it out, holding it up to the light. "It'll look nice with last year's angel." She watched Steve visibly relax as she tucked the angel back into the box. He sat down, and she got up. She handed Clint his gift, which he ripped into with gusto.

"Oh cool, a dart board," he said, "this'll get boring after fight minutes." He sat it down at his feet. She shrugged.

"Teach Cooper, may be something fun to do with his dad," she said, nudging his shoulder and handed the lumpy package to Steve. "Merry Christmas, Rogers."

"Oh, thanks Natasha," he said, taking the package and opening it. The paper fell away and as it did so, the jacket unfolded. Made of soft subtle leather, with padding inside and a sheepskin collar; on the back in rich embroidery were the words  _Howling Commandos_  with his shield in the middle. "Natasha…" he whispered and turned the jacket around, inside were names of the men he served with (Peggy's name included on the left of his name) on the right was:  _James "Bucky" Barnes_. He sniffed, setting the jacket on his lap and hugging her. "Thank you," he forced out. "Thank you so much."

"Merry Christmas, Steve," she whispered, hugging him. He pulled away and slipped the jacket on. The fit was perfect and he zipped it up, giving her a watery smile. Clint nodded at her as he gathered up his snow globe and dart board.

"Well, I best be off," he said. "Gotta get home. You who have a lovely Midnight Mass… right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Steve said. "Merry Christmas, Clint."

"Oh, right, Nat, on the table is another thing for you," Clint said, before seeing himself out. Steve looked at the red envelope; she snatched it before he could. The sound of the door closing echoed in the now still apartment.

"Natasha?" Steve asked.

"It's nothing, just something from Clint. I'll read it later," she said, slipping it beneath the ballet slippers. "So? Midnight Mass?"

"Not for another two hours. Wanna watch a movie?"

" _The Nightmare Before Christmas_?" she asked with a a grin. He rolled his eyes but nodded. She laughed and turned the tv on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MCU (c) Marvel Studios 
> 
> lol, I almost wrote Marvel was copyrighted to Ubisoft. Ha! 
> 
> Merry Christmas everyone. This story will continue after January 5th. 
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.


	3. The Third Christmas - 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now before you go and crucify me in the comments, just read the story. This is a Romanogers story. I just make my characters work for their happy ending.

Tony's face was stuttering, the internet having trouble tracking him as he moved about his lab, his words coming out minced and choppy. "Tony, ya need to stay still. I'm having trouble hearing you."

A ragged sigh came through the speaker of his smartphone as Tony stopped moving and looked him. "I'll get you a StarkPhone for Christmas, then we won't have this problem," Tony said. He made a face at that, he didn't need another complicated piece of technology to muddle through. "Anyway, you're invited to the Howard Stark Christmas Gala."

"You named a Christmas Gala after your father?" It surprised him. Tony never talked about his father, and the few times he did it was bitter resentment. He was happy Howard married, but it saddened him that Howard focused so much on his work that he didn't have time for Tony. He wondered if he had never been lost (or maybe if he had been found), that he could have talked Howard into spending more time with his son. He closed his eyes, rubbing them with his thumb and index finger. Such what if questions hurt his head. In the background he could hear the rush of water, the shower running in the bathroom.

"My mom has a fund raiser gala and a spring gala named after her, figured I should give dear old dad one."

"And you just decided it should be Christmas?"

"Thought it had a nice ring to it," Tony said, gesticulating, "the one day a year when family should come first, and like every other day of the year, he was completely absent from the picture."

"Tony—"

"Please, Cap. Just come. Everyone else will be there. Clint, Banner, Pepper — you've met Pepper have you?"

How could he not remember Pepper Potts: smart, pretty, and with a patience's level of a saint (maybe something more divine, an angel?), he had to be dumb, deaf and blind to not notice the way she and Tony looked at each other. It hurt too sometimes, reminding him of the secret stolen glances he and Peggy shared. He sighed, he shared those same glances with Natasha. "Yes, I've met Pepper, Tony. Is… Is… Nat gonna be there?" He glanced at the bathroom door, the shower was still going.

"Tasha? Think so, don't know for sure. Sent her an invite, haven't heard anything. Sent you one too but you're about as flexible with technology as a rock around a bend."

"Thanks, Stark."

Tony ignored his comment, bulldozing ahead. "Black tie, and you get to bring a date." Tony gave him a lopsided grin. "You can bring that mysterious girlfriend of yours."

Steve sighed, rubbing his face, sparing a quick glance at the bathroom door. After Shield fell, he'd follow through on Natasha's suggestion of calling Sharon (formerly known as Kate). He liked Sharon, she was nice and smart and pretty (Tony would say she's a seven out of ten, he still wasn't sure what that meant, and he was afraid to ask); but the glaring kink in their relationship was the fact she was Peggy Carter's niece. When he told Sam how it made him feel… awkward, his friend suggested he either get over it and view this as a second chance to have a romantic relationship (Sharon reminded him of Peggy in a lot of ways) or end things with Sharon.

He had done neither. So, there he was a few days before Christmas stuck in his new Brooklyn apartment (generously paid for by Tony) with a girlfriend he was really only dating because he couldn't bring himself to break up with her (let alone  _explain why_  he was breaking up with her) and pining after a woman he hardly knew anything about and hadn't seen since the end of May. It sounded like one of those bad romance novels Sharon liked to read. "She's not mysterious, Tony," he said.

"You have a girlfriend, and you didn't tell me. Me! Your best friend."

"That's stretching the nature of our relationship a bit, Tony." He ran a hand through his hair, it was still damp from his shower; the water was still running and he began to wonder if it was normal for women to take such long showers. "I mean, I'll bring her, she is my girlfriend but—"

"But? Why is there always a but with you?"

"It's complicated Tony."

"I'm all ears. You know, after the Battle of New York, I found out talking really helps heal the soul."

"Was that why you were so chipper during your Christmas party?" he asked.

"Hey, you do not know what I went through earlier that month!" Tony said, his tone a bit sharp though there was a teasing edge to it. He sighed, nodding. "I'll listen."

"And laugh. Look, Tony, I'm fine. I'm dealing with my issues" — by not dealing with them — "Sharon and I—"

"Wait? Her name is Sharon?" Tony asked. "Does she like old fuddy-duddy things? Vintage items? 40s memorabilia?"

He rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Just because her name is Sharon doesn't mean she's like that Tony." The water had stopped running a few minutes ago.

"Look, I'm just saying that Sharon is an old timey name." Tony grinned. "And Sharon is a name that comes from your era so I wondered if—"

A delicate slim finger pressed the end call button. He glanced up to see Sharon grinning at him. "Why do you put up with him? He always makes fun of you." She wrapped her towel around her lithe body, her blonde hair dark and damp against her alabaster skin.

"Eh." He shrugged. "It's how Tony shows affection." He gave her a small lopsided smile. "I don't mind."

Sharon straddled his hips, his hands going to hers. She took the phone from his hand and tossed it into the laundry hamper. "Well, I do. He shouldn't be making fun of you like that." She looped her arms around his neck. "Plus, you need to smile more Steve. It's almost Christmas." She rested her cheek on his head. "I don't like seeing you so sad."

He sighed, resting his forehead against her collarbone, smelling the faint sent of cherries from her body wash and vanilla from her shampoo. Natasha never had heavy scents, always fresh and crisp scents, natural ones. Though sometimes Natasha indulged and had a soft floral scent. He hissed when Sharon rocked her hips. "Sharon…"

"C'mon Steve," she said, doing it again. He groaned, cursed his hypersensitivity thanks to the serum. "You're tense, you're stress. This'll help you relax." She kissed the spot where his ear and cheek met. "Besides, I'm in the mood and we haven't done it since you got back from Europe."

He groaned again, closing his eyes. Ever since finding out that Bucky was alive, brainwashed and twisted into a heartless assassin  _but_  alive, he had looked for him in between his missions as an Avenger. He came back last month with Sam from Eastern Europe, the lead turning up nothing on Bucky's whereabouts. "I know," he said, half-heartedly thrusting his hips up when she made another pass. "But—" she cut him off with a kiss, which he accepted out of reflexive habit.

"No talking," she whispered, running her fingers through his still damp hair. "Just relax. I'll make sure you feel good tonight." She dipped her head, kissing his neck and shoulders, her hands trailing light caresses along his bare chest. He held onto her rocking hips, his body responding to her touches, yet his mind was miles away in caught up in memories of Natasha: her lips on his, how she cradled his head when Bucky attacked them on the freeway, how perfectly she fit against him when he shielded them both from the dying Leviathan two years ago. How she tasted of vodka and cinnamon the night of Stark's Christmas party as they kissed beneath the mistletoe. The minty freshness of her chewing gum on the escalator as they blended in to avoided Rumlow's seeking gaze. He gasped, pushing Sharon away when she began to finger the elastic waistband of his boxers. "Steve?"

He picked her up and set her beside him before standing, glaring down at his visibly erect penis. Damn serum. "I'm sorry Sharon," he said, "just not in the mood."

"Tiny Steve begs to differ."

"Don't call my… my… my penis that," he grumbled, a hot blush on his cheeks. He headed to the bathroom. "I'm just not in the mood."

"But Steve," she whined. He shook his head, shoulders tightening as he opened the bathroom door.

"Sorry, Sharon," he said and closed the door. He stripped off his underwear, still glaring at his penis, and twisted the knob to cold and stepped into the freezing stream of water. He jerked, gasping as the cold water hit his skin. It did the trick, his penis wilting. He slumped down, hugging his knees, goosebumps prickling his skin. He pressed his forehead against his knees and wondered where Bucky and Natasha were, and why did he feel so empty and alone.

* * *

The sky was a pale bright blue of winter, Santas from the Salvation Army stood on every corner ringing their bells and ho-ho-hoing to get people to part with spare change. Tourists from every part of the United States and the world mingled with people of New York. New York had changed a lot since he was a kid, but one thing remained the same, 5th Avenue was  _the_ shopping district, and with people packed onto the sidewalk like sardines and in cars on the road. He rubbed his gloved hands together, blowing on them, his skin tight and itchy from the biting cold of December. The tall skyscrapers helped a little in blocking out the worst of the artic wind, but it still howled down the streets, biting though his thick wool pea coat. "You aren't gonna turn into a Capsicle on me are ya?" Tony asked as they walked down the sidewalk. He grunted a laugh.

"Nah. Need freezing water to do that," he said and stuck his hands into his arm pits. He could feel Tony's eyes boring into him. "I don't like the cold, okay. Never did. Even before I became a—"

"Capsicle?"

He sighed. "Yeah, even before that." He glanced up at the sky, watching an airplane fly overhead. He remembered the bombers as they flew over Europe, their loud buzzing drone. Each country's plane had a different sound, and he had learned early on to listen for the familiar telltale buzz of the Luftwaffe. Now planes could break the sound barrier and rockets went into space. He was still surprised the US put a man on the moon. Tony had said a lot of modern technology came out of WWII and the Cold War's science race. Zola had been a part of Project: Paperclip, how many other German scientists did the Allies convert? How many others became traitors? He shook his head.

"Steve, c'mon, pay attention."

"Sorry, I was—"

"Caught up in your head, look I know that feeling too, but this Christmas time and you shouldn't be so glum."

He sighed. "I know, but it's…" he stopped. He didn't know if he could feel happy again. All his friends were dead, Peggy was dying, Bucky was missing, he was in an unhappy relationship with Sharon and Natasha was… somewhere. Plus, on top of everything he still felt like he was playing catch up with pop culture and modern-day vernacular. No matter how many movies he watched from the last seventy years there was always something he hadn't seen that was a cult classic that people referenced from. Honestly, he wished Shield had just left him in the ice. It would have been better than trying to muddle through the 21st Century. "Complicated," he lamely said.

"Everything's complicated with you." Tony looked annoyed. "Look, Steve, do me a favor. Relax and enjoy today. Everything is on me. You don't have to spend a dime."

"Tony," he sighed. "I appreciate it but I—"

"Ah-uh!" Tony wagged a finger in his face. "No whining, no complaining, no Depression era frugality. We are gonna splurge and splurge hard." Tony looked at him. "You have what? Three and a half million in back pay?"

He did, most of the money he put into savings, some into the stock market and the rest was in his checking account. With his consultant pay from the Army, the pay he got as an Avenger (Tony once explained it to him that he took it off Stark Industries tax returns, something about a security unit for the company, he wasn't sure how it worked), the pay Shield owed him while working for them for two years,  _and_  compensation for injuries he received while on active duty (getting frozen) plus his military retirement pay; he still had more money than he knew what to do with. He wasn't rich as Tony was, but he could still afford nice things. His problem (among many) was habit for him to save every penny in case something happened. Even though he knew that was sometimes a dangerous idea, since he volunteered at a nearby retirement home and some of the residents there told him about how they had nice little nest eggs for a rainy day and then the Depression hit, and the money was next to worthless. Tony nudged him again, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Yeah… yeah, somethin' like that," he said.

"So, spend some! Money is meant to be spent!" Tony clapped him on the back. "Plus its Christmas! Got all your shopping done?"

No, just bought Nat her ornament two weeks ago, haven't bought anything else for anyone. "I'm working on it."

"Look, after you get fitted for you tux, we'll go shopping. I know a nice jewelry store, Sharon would love it. Pretty diamonds, what girl would refuse a diamond necklace." He flashed him a grin. "Maybe even throw in an engagement ring."

He choked, tripping over his feet a bit. Someone glared at them, but Tony glared back. "An en-engagement ring? Tony! Sharon and I have only been dating for seven months!"

"So? People gotten married in less time."

"Yeah, but I'm…" he swallowed. He wasn't ready for marriage. He liked Sharon, but she wasn't the right partner. He was still looking for the right partner. Natasha, Natasha is the right partner, so stop lying to yourself, Rogers. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm… I was thinking maybe I can get Sharon a gift card to Amazon and a nice Christmas card."

"You're… joking right?" Tony arched a brow. "You're seriously joking about the gift card." When he didn't reply, his friend let out a loud long-suffering sigh. "Steve, Sharon is your girlfriend—"

"I know that."

"And I'm telling you, man to man, you don't get your girlfriend a damn Amazon gift card for your first Christmas together!"

"Knowing Sharon, she probably got me some socks," he said. "It's fine, Tony, really. We both agreed to go lowkey this year."

"That's code for I'm gonna get you something super nice," he said. "We're getting your girl a necklace."

"Tony—"

"Nope! A necklace, a nice diamond solitaire," he said. "She'll like it. You can do the fancy hearts and forever moments next Christmas."

"I really don't think Sharon likes jewelry nor do I want to spend that much on her."

"I'm paying for it." He arched a brow. "Seriously, if you're so unhappy in this relationship why are you still dating her?"

"I told you," he said, side stepping a passerby. On a corner, a vendor was shouting about hotdogs. "It's com—"

"Complicated. Yeah, I get that, but it… Steve, you look miserable."

I do? Maybe he was tired more, his nights edging closer to insomnia, but he didn't think he looked miserable. "I'm fine," he said. Tony pulled him to a halt, a few people glared at them, but the crowd bowed around them.

"Look, I said the same thing when I was not fine," Tony said, "and you're not fine."

"Tony—"

"Talk to Banner, Steve," he said, "he's good at listening. I talked to him. He's a doctor." Tony ignored the annoyed looks people gave them as they continued to stand in the middle of the sidewalk.

"I don't think he's that type of doctor, though."

"Or talk to me, I'm —"

"I'm not going to tell you about my problems, Tony!" he said, his voice curt. He rubbed his temples. He didn't sleep last night, maybe catching a few minutes here or there before waking up to the smallest sound or slight movement. Tony looked hurt. He sighed. "I'm sorry, just… haven't been sleeping well."

"Steve—"

"Slept for seventy years, don't need anymore." He grinned. Tony didn't look convinced. He clapped Tony on the back. "I'll be right as rain in a few days." He sighed. "Just got a lot of thoughts rattling around in my head."

"Okay…" Tony didn't sound convince but stopped asking questions as they went into the tuxedo store.

* * *

The store was sleek and sophisticated, satin shining in the florescent light and bright vibrant colored silk. He stood before four mirrors that wrapped around him. The tailor was a short rotund man with a thinning hair line, splotchy cheeks and smelled too strong of some expensive cologne. He poked and prodded him, telling him to lift and lower his arms, move this way and that, asking him how the shirt and jacket fit, how did the pants fit. Reminding him to be honest about each question. So, he told the tailor when the shirt was too tight, how the cummerbund pinched in the back, and the seam of the pants rode up his crotch, and every other detail he could think of until the tuxedo was fitting him like a well-worn glove. Tony, the entire time, was leaning against one of the mirrors, doing something on his phone and ignoring his glances. "Mezzieur Rogers," the tailor said, his accent thick; Steve couldn't place it. "I do believe you are done."

"Oh boy," he said, looking at himself in the mirror. The tuxedo was a navy so dark it could pass for black, but it made his lighter blue eyes pop and lightened his sandy blond hair. Of course, the tailor had covered the tuxedo in pins and white chalk marks for hemming and fitting purposes. It hugged the natural contours of his body, accenting his more prominent muscle groups. He didn't recognize himself. He looked… handsome. Devilishly so. "Tony?" he looked at himself in the mirror. "Whatcha think?"

Tony glanced up from his phone and gave a low whistle. "You clean up nice, Steve. Sharon's gonna swoon once she gets a look at this." He snapped a picture. "What's her number?"

"I'm not giving you my guh—" he swallowed,  _girlfriend_  sticking in his throat, "— Sharon's number," he finished lamely as a blushed colored his cheeks.

Tony nodded. "Yeah, good idea, keep it a secret from her. Then she'll appreciate even more." He turned to the tailor. "When will you have it ready?"

"One the twenty-second Mezzieur Stark," the tailor said, "if Mezzieur Rogers has any issues, we will have some time to fix it." He gave Tony a smile. "You are our most valued customer, it will be our top priority."

"See to it that it is," Tony said. "Okay, Steve, change and we'll head Harry Winston."

He choked on his spit as he took the jacket off. "Harry Winston?" He knew that name, and he also knew that was some high-priced jewelry. "Tony, I… I can't go in there!" he said. He fumbled his way out of the tuxedo.

"Why not?" Tony looked flummoxed. "It's just a jewelry store.

"A high-end jewelry store," he said, remembering how as a boy he stared at the socialites with their furs and glittering diamond necklaces and matching earrings. How he met some of them during the USO tour. They all had a haughty air about them, looking down upon him when they found out he was the son of Irish immigrants from Brooklyn. Treating him as if he was some stray mongrel they had to be nice to for brownie points among their social circles. "I'm from Brooklyn!" he said. "A poor kid from Brooklyn… I… I can't go in there." He put on his clothes, stumbling into his pants and pulling his turtleneck over his head.

"Relax, you're with me," he said, slapping his hand between his shoulder blades. "And it's not like it was back in the 40s. Besides, I'll be paying for anything you want."

" _Tony_ ," he said, "why can't we just go to Zales or Kay?"

"And get Sharon tacky garbage? Nope. Won't hear of it. Your girl is gonna have the finest jewels money can buy," he said. "Plus, I need to pick up the thing I got for Pepper." They walked out of the tuxedo store, he pulled on his coat, trotting after Tony. "It's gonna be fine, Steve."

"I just… Tony, I appreciate this, but… I really don't need you to spend money on Sharon like this. Especially because things are—"

"Complicated, I got that," Tony said, giving him a hard look. "Maybe if you'd talk to her about—"

"I can't!" he said. "I can't. It's… she wouldn't understand or take it wrong and Natasha set me up with her, so… I…"

"You don't have to stay with her, Steve, if you don't like her."

"No, I do," he said, buttoning up his coat as he walked. He wove through the crowd, trying to organize his jumbled thoughts. He liked Sharon, liked he a lot, but he didn't  _love_  her. Not the way he loved Peggy. "I just… we're just dating."

"Steve, are you dating her because you feel obligated to?" Tony asked. He frowned, not liking how Tony hit the nail on the head. He squirmed inside, trying to avoid answering the question without sounding like he was not answering the question.

"I'm dating her because I'm dating her."

"Did Tasha teach you that trick?" Tony asked, his voice had an edge to it. "Talking in circles to answer questions, or did I?"

"Tony."

Tony grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to a halt. "Look Steve, I see that you're unhappy, I'm sure Sharon sees your unhappy too. I know you do the Golden Generation bullshit of keeping your problems to yourself — my dad did the same thing — but I'm gonna be frank with you because I'm your friend: you don't have to date Sharon if you don't want to and I'm sure Natasha isn't gonna be hurt that you dumped her handpicked girl for you." Tony let him go. "Sometimes people work out better as friends." Tony smiled. "And that's okay."

Steve closed his eyes and set his face in a grim line, shoving his hands into his pockets and marched down the street. Tony saw right through him, hit him right where it hurt. Telling him what he refused to tell himself: that he should end things with Sharon and not drag them out, leading to misery and unhappiness. But he had his pride, and Tony had wounded it. Sometimes, Tony had no tact; sometimes it was what he needed to hear though.

"Steve! Steve, c'mon! I thought you'd appreciate honesty? You're always saying how honesty is the policy or some lame crap like that." Tony chased after him. "Steve!"

He stopped at the corner, a deep sigh shaking his shoulders. The city had decorated for the season, fake boughs of holly strung on the lampposts, shop windows with giant nutcrackers and evergreen boughs with large gaudy plastic ornaments. Christmas lights of every color in every shop and signs prompting the Christmas sales. Seeing such things — especially in his home city — angered him. Christmas was more than just buying the perfect gift or drinking the night away or whatever else people these days thought Christmas was about. Christmas was about family and love, good will towards men, and peace on earth. People gave him a rude look as he stood there, letting his anger simmer down, letting Tony catch up to him. He felt Tony's hand on his back. "Thought I lost ya there," he said, sounding just a tad winded.

He smirked. "Wouldn't dream of leaving you stranded in New York without back up."

"I always have back up," Tony said and shook his arms out in a causal display of loosening up, but he caught the glint of metal on his wrists; Iron Man never far behind. "Now let's go to Harry Winston, and don't give me that look. Nobody is gonna chase you out with a broom."

"Hardy har-har." He rolled his eyes as Tony lead him to the fancy jewelry store.

* * *

It was a luxurious store. Plush beige carpets, dark navy walls trimmed in silver and gold filigree and crystal chandeliers hanging from the pearl white ceiling. He felt sorry and drab standing in the store with the jewelers and consultants dressed in cocktail dresses and sharp suits. Orchestral versions of traditional Christmas carols played, soft and soothing to the sophisticated (snobby) cliental they catered too. A tall slender man walked over to them. "Tony!"

"Jérôme!" Tony hugged the man, they each patted each other on the shoulder when they pulled apart. "You look good."

"Your piece is finished. Beautiful, simply beautiful. She'll love it," Jérôme said, flashing Tony a winning smile. "And who is this?" he asked.

"This is my good friend, Steve Rogers," Tony said, it took a moment, but he watched as Jérôme's eyes grew wide.

" _The_  Steve Rogers?" he asked, he sighed and nodded, thrusting out his hand. Jérôme shook, a wide smile on his face. "Welcome, Captain Rogers, welcome. A friend of Tony's — of course — a friend of ours." He let his hand go. "Don't worry, all our clients are confidential." He gave him another winning smile. "So glad you could come. What brings you in?"

"Earrings for my uh…" he swallowed, clearing his throat, "m-my g-girlfriend." He flushed, wondering why he had trouble referring to Sharon like that. Jérôme furrowed his brow.

"I told him to get a nice necklace with a diamond solitaire, but he won't listen," Tony said, shooting him a glare. Steve sighed.

"We have both, a set even, if you'd like to look," Jérôme said, leading them to a more private booth with two plush chairs. He sat, frowning as the extra soft cushions sucked him into the depths of the chair. Tony sat back, waiting his turn. He struggled upright, putting his hands on his knees, his fingers fisting the fabric of his jeans. Jérôme came back with two cases, one full of pretty earrings: from single gemstone studs to luxurious dangles with many stones. The necklaces Jérôme presented were set up in a similar fashion as well. "Now, depending on your price—"

"He's not concerned about money," Tony said, looking up from his phone, "just put it on my tab."

The jeweler bowed his head. "Of course, sir," he said and gave Steve another smile. "Well then, you have your choices." He waved his open hand over the beautiful pieces of jewelry.

He had to admit all the pieces looked beautiful, but whenever he looked at them he didn't imagine Sharon wearing these, no, he imagined them on Natasha. Silver and white gold to accent her hair, emeralds to bring out her eyes, sapphires to compliment her hair, and diamonds to bring to life that internal sparkle he always saw in her. "Um…"

"Does your girlfriend like wearing jewelry?" Jérôme asked. He puffed out his cheeks, he didn't know if Sharon liked jewelry. They never been on any date that was fancy enough to warrant luxury jewelry. They always kept it lowkey: dinner and a movie, strolls through the park, Netflix and chill nights (he hated those). In fact, he was pretty sure the public didn't know he was dating. Natasha, earlier this year, had pointed him to the Captain America forums, where straight women and gay men discussed everything from how sexually desirable he was to his fantasies and kinks to what he air for breakfast in the morning to if he liked dogs or cats better. He browsed those a few times since Shield fell, but none have picked up on the fact he was dating Sharon. "I um… not sure," he mumbled.

"How long have you two been dating?"

"Er… about seven months," he said. If Jérôme judged him, he didn't say, instead he nodded and took away the more luxurious pieces, leaving the simpler earrings and necklaces.

"These will be between five hundred and one thousand dollars, depending on the size of the stones and precious metal used."  
"Jérôme, I told you not to bother him about the price," Tony said, flicking his gaze up from his phone. The jeweler mumbled an apology.

Steve rubbed his hands together and looked at the pieces again. "Do you have pearls?"

"You're getting Sharon a diamond, Steve, not a pearl. Pearls are for your daughter," Tony said, nudging his calf with his foot.

She could've been my daughter, Tony. If I hadn't been frozen or your father found me, I could've been Sharon's father for all I know. Her uncle at the very least. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll take those," he said, pointing to the small diamond studs. They were pretty and they seemed like the least expensive and he figured Sharon would at least appreciate them. Jérôme nodded and whisked everything away. Once the jeweler had gone, he shot Tony a glare. "Really?"

"What?" Tony seemed confused.

"Pearls are for daughters? I happen to like pearls on women."

"Only two types of women wear pearls: rich little daddy's girls or grandmas. Sharon is neither, ergo diamonds." Tony nudged him with his foot again. "Stop being so up Capsicle. Gonna have to give you a new name that uses stick in the mud."

"I figured you'd be smart enough to realize I didn't want to do this."

"You were going to give Sharon a Christmas card and a gift card to Amazon for a Christmas present."

"I told you we were going to go lowkey this year!" He looked away, he didn't need this. Didn't want this. It was bad enough his relationship with Sharon was complicated, but now Tony was spending way too much money on him. It didn't feel right. He squirmed in his seat.

"And I told you that's girl code for: I'm getting you something ridiculously expensive, so you better realize that and get me something just as fancy too."

He rolled his eyes. "It doesn't mean that, Tony!"

"Trust me, I know. Pepper has told me that all the time and what does she do? Goes and buys me something expensive, so I have to get her something expensive."

"Christmas is more than just who and out do who on spending money on gifts, Tony," he said. Tony arched a brow.

"Never knew that," he said, his words dripping with sarcasm. "I'm just a genius playboy billionaire philanthropist, not like I know anything."

He hunched his shoulders up, feeling bad. "Tony, I'm sorry," he mumbled, "didn't mean to snap, just…" he stopped. Just what? In an unhappy relationship, with a woman he didn't love while pining for a woman he hadn't seen in seven months (and he was pretty sure Natasha hated him or something), stuck out of time with everyone he ever knew dead, dying or turned into a homicidal killer by the enemy. On top of that, he hadn't been sleeping well since he found out Bucky was still alive, his nightmares vivid and of the day Bucky fell to his apparent death. He often dwelled on his short comings, blaming himself for getting frozen, for failing to protect Bucky, for failing to protect Fury (even though Fury faked his own death, but he still failed in a way). Sam had commented that he took more unnecessary risks, asking him once if he just hated it here — in this time — and wished to die. He hadn't given Sam and answer, because he frankly didn't know. He hung his head. "I'm sorry, Tony," he said, "things are just—"

"Complicated. Yeah, I get that, but what I don't get is you not telling me why." Tony shifted in his seat. "Steve, I'm your friend. And I'm worried about you."

Get in line, a lot of people are. "I know." He smiled. "I'll be okay though, I can get by on my own."

"Ah, Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers," Jérôme said as he came back with two black velvet boxes. "Your items."

Tony grunted and pulled out his credit card, handing it to Jérôme. The man smiled and disappeared again. Tony pulled his box towards him, popping it open. The diamonds and sapphires shimmered in the light. "Perfect." He traced the delicate chain of tiny diamonds. It took Steve a moment to realize that the small diamonds had been arranged into the infinity symbol and at each juncture tear drop shaped sapphires hung.

"That's pretty."

"Yeah," Tony said, "it is." He closed it. "Just because people get someone expensive jewelry doesn't mean they don't love that person. When Pepper first started working for me, I got her a pair of diamond earrings for Christmas, because she was a damn good secretary. On the twenty-sixth, she comes in wearing them. Wore them all year. Turned out, she loves jewelry." He smiled. "I design each piece and they make it. Every Christmas she gets a one of a kind piece."

He couldn't help but smile. "You really do love her."

"Yeah, I do."

"I only knew your father when he was single," he said, "glad he got married. I really am."

"My mom was the light of his life. For all his talk about focusing on work, he always made some time for my mom." He sighed. "Wish he made some time for me."

"He loved you," Steve said, finding it hard to believe that the Howard Stark he knew, would completely neglect his son. "He did, Tony, I know he did."

"I guess in his own way," Tony whispered, "but I was too blind to see it until I no longer had it."

Jérôme came back with Tony's card. "Thank you, Mr. Stark, it's always a pleasure seeing you, and you too Captain Rogers, I hope you both come again."

"You too Jérôme," he said and got up, taking the boxes, handing the smaller one to Steve. They left the store, the wintery air sapping the breath from their lungs. Christmas songs blared on the outside speakers of the shops, the streets packed with cars and taxies honking their horns to get the car in front to move. The pale winter blue sky had vanished, replaced with the dull grey of a winter storm, fat lazy snowflakes drifted down, adding to the mounds of snow. As they headed towards Avengers Tower, he noticed it was difficult to walk abreast with Tony, so many people squished into the sidewalk. He managed somehow, he figured it was his large bulk and people just swelled around them. "So, how much did you spend on that necklace?" he asked, bit curious. Tony shrugged, giving a woman a smile as they passed.

"Two hundred thousand, with my customer loyalty discount," he said. "Less than last year. Last year it was five hundred thousand." He stuck the box in his inner coat pocket.

He choked. "Tw-Two hundred thousand?" he asked, unable to fathom spending that much money at one store. He could live comfortable for several months on that alone. "How could… how…" He stopped, allowing distance to build between him and Tony. Tony stopped, staring at him and he shook himself, briskly walking towards his friend.

"It's chump change, Steve," he said, as they resumed their stroll towards the Tower, "you're Depression era sensibilities are showing."

"It's not  _chump change_ , Tony! Two hundred thousand dollars!"

"Keep it down" — Tony shot people glances but everyone seemed so caught up in their own lives that they didn't seem to notice nor care — "and did you forget who you're talking to?"

He huffed, shaking his head. "Fine," he said, "let's just… go back, I'll have to get home and wrap this now." He looked at the small velvet box in his hands, wishing he was giving this to Natasha instead. Tony gave a nod and flagged down one of the Stark Town cars the cruised the city.

"Get in Capsicle."

"Would you stop calling me that?" he asked, a bit annoyed. Tony flashed him a grin as he closed the door.

"Not until spring."

* * *

JARVIS was kind enough to play old timey elevator music as they headed towards the main living quarters for the Avengers. The elevator gave a soft electrical hum, a soft ding at each floor. He was looking out the windows, watching the city below get smaller and smaller, the snow thicker the higher they went. Tony was on his phone, doing something. "Never did tell me why it's complicated between you and Sharon."

He closed his eyes, resting his head on the glass. He didn't want to talk about this, not now, not with Tony. He just wanted to get through the next few days and the gala. Then he and Sam were gonna fly to Europe and see if they can't find anything on Bucky's whereabouts. That should take a month, maybe two, and he wouldn't have to deal with Sharon until he got back. "It's fine, Tony."

"If you need help breaking her heart, I can let her down gently." Tony looked up from his phone. "Done it before."

"How?"

"By giving her a chunk of change and having her a sign a non-disclosure agreement."

He scowled, looking away. "That won't be necessary, Tony. Sharon and I are just… having a bit of a rough spot that's all." Rather,  _I'm_  having the rough spot, Sharon's just along for the ride. "Maybe next Christmas you can by that engagement ring for me. Have Pepper plan our wedding."

"You can't even call her your girlfriend, how the hell do you plan on calling her your wife."

He hunched his shoulders, shifting his weight (his shoes squeaked against the glass floor) and remained silent for a while. "Because it's the right thing to do."

He could feel Tony' stare on him. They past three floors without Tony saying a word. It was more uncomfortable than Tony pestering him about why his relationship with Sharon was complicated. "It's the… it's the…" Tony sputtered, like a car stuck in snow. "Because it's the right thing to do? Steve," Tony said, "fighting aliens that want to kill us is the right thing to do. Punching a mugger trying to steal a lady's purse is the right thing to do. Helping grannies cross the street is the right thing to do. Donating blood is the right thing to do. But dating a woman when you're unhappy in the relationship is the opposite, it's the  _wrong_  thing to do."

He didn't like this. He didn't like it when Bucky called him out at the fair, thinking he had something to prove. He didn't like it when Tony said that he was no better than a glorified lab rat. He didn't like it when Sam told him that he'd be doing everyone a favor by killing Bucky (okay, so he'll admit that Sam didn't say that exactly, but the implication was there, and it still hurt). He knew he wasn't perfect, but he tried to be, he really did; but he didn't need people calling him out on his shit, especially when he knew it was shit. He didn't need people helping him or calling him out on his problems. "Don't you think I know that, Tony?" he growled, tucking his hands further into his armpits, drawing his lips into a tighter frown.

"Actually, I'm wondering if you do at all. Or maybe you're just so damn selfless its selfish. Just love that self-sacrificing hurt, don't ya?"

He glared at his friend. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Actually, I do. I think you're scared. I think you're scared of telling Sharon the truth, because she'll leave you — which would be a good thing considering how miserable you been for the last couple of months — and on top of that, you're afraid to tell whomever you  _do love_  how you feel because you have no idea how to talk to women and are afraid of rejection."

It was true, and it hurt. He hated how Tony saw right through him, how Tony dragged out the icky black thing that had coiled around his heart and exposed it to the light. He hated how Tony was just being a good friend and looking out for him. He glared, swallowing.

The elevator dinged, the doors rumbled open and there was Natasha, looking through some papers. She looked up, surprised to see them. "Steve, Tony… hi." She gave them a fleeting smile.

"N-Natasha!" he swallowed, the lump in his throat, hoping to keep his blush down and hoping Tony didn't notice anything. "H-Hi." He and Tony stepped out, and he watched Natasha step into the elevator. "You uh…" he cleared his throat. "You look… you look good. Haven't uh… seen you in a while."

"Yeah." The corner of her mouth tugged up into a half smile that sent his heart fluttering. "You look good too, Steve. How're things?"

"Good. Good. Sharon and I are doing great." He grinned, hoping she didn't notice how forced it was. "Thanks for setting us up."

She bowed her head with her hair hiding her face for a heartbeat or two before looking at him again. "No problem. Glad I could help you find someone special."

"Yeah, me too. Sharon's… Sharon's great." He shoved his hands into his pockets. He stared at her, watching her play with the corner of a piece of paper. The doors began to close. "Bye Nat."

"Later Rogers." She waved at him as the doors closed. He let out a big long sigh, feeling as if all the light and happiness in the world had been sucked away. He looked at his feet.

"Maybe I was too quick to turn down the gift card idea," Tony mumbled. He shot Tony another glare, heading towards the spacious kitchen area. "But you and Tasha. Oh, boy! I never saw that coming. I thought you had a crush on the café girl or something."

"Tony, please stop." He sat down at the counter, putting his head into his hands. He felt awful, like he wanted to throw up. He wanted to go into his room and curl into a ball and forget about the world. Tony being Tony ignored him and came over to him. "Tony."

"So how long have you been pining after our lovely Black Widow?" he nudged him. He scowled at the inventor. "Because when she was working for me… or rather spying on me for Shield, Pepper told me she was a very expensive sexual harassment law suit waiting to happen."

He stared, aghast at Tony. "How could you… are you saying—"

"Yup." Tony nodded with a grin. "So look at it this way. She's clearly the one you want, but you're stuck with Sharon. Why don't you dump Sharon, and get it on with Tasha?"

He felt like throwing up again. He hadn't felt sick since the serum yet now he felt weak and achy. The brilliant shiny chrome of the kitchen, the impeccable neatness of this place, all contrasted with how awful he felt. "I can't Tony, I told you that." He hung his head. "Besides, did you see how Natasha looked at me? She couldn't wait to get away from me. She doesn't feel the same way about me."

There was silence for a heartbeat too long. "I'm sorry," Tony said, "but who has the serum and who doesn't? Aren't you supposed to see further, hear better, run faster than the rest of us?"

"Tony—"

"And you  _think_  Natasha doesn't like you? Because, what I saw were two people too caught up in being selfless to realize that they like each other. Two people afraid of their own feelings."

"Even if that was true, Tony… I can't… I just… it's… Sharon—"

"It's complicated. I got it, but why?"

"Because—"

"No, you do not use that lame bullshit answer with me. My dad used it on me when I was a kid, it got old real fast. So, tell me, Cap, why is things between you and Sharon so complicated that you can't even break up with her?"

He looked at Tony, realizing that he could no longer avoid the truth. He sighed, leaning back in the chair, wincing at the groan it made from his weight. "Sharon Carter. Her name is Sharon Carter and she's Peggy's grandniece." He shook his head. "I didn't know it at first. For the first three months, I did really like her. She was smart, funny, and we always had a good time together. Then one day, before I moved back to Brooklyn, I went to see Peggy to tell her I was heading back to New York." He ran a hand through his hair. "Ran into Sharon at the nursing home. We talked for a bit and went on our way. I got to Peggy's room and she called me Sharon." He closed his eyes, remembering how he had to convince Peggy first that he wasn't Sharon and then that he was alive and that she still owed him a dance. "I asked Sharon about it when I got home… she told me. Ever since it's been… off between us." He folded his hands together.

The silence stretched between them. The gentle hum of technology filled the uncomfortable void. He heard the elevator hum pass the floor, the doors remaining shut. "Jeez," Tony muttered. "That's…. That's—"

"Icky?" He gave Tony a small smile. "I know." He looked around the space, large and open, with big bay windows with a beautiful view of Manhattan. It would be hell heating the place in winter, but thanks to the arch reactor, energy coast was a thing of the past. There was enough energy output from the reactor to completely offset the amount of heat lost from the big bay windows. He watched the snow, wondering if Howard ever envisioned this future.

Tony snorted. "I was going to say creepy but icky works too." He tapped the counter. "JARVIS, drinks."

"Any preference, sir?" the AI asked.

"Bourbon on the rocks."

"Right away sir." There was the whirling sound of unseen machinery, and two glasses rose up out of the stainless-steel countertop, filled with bourbon with cubes of ice within. He arched a brow as Tony handed him a glass and took the other for himself.

"You know I can only get drunk if I drink Asgardian mead, right?" he cradled the glass in his hands.

"This calls for a drink, Steve," Tony replied, and took a sip of his. He sighed, staring at the amber liquid before sipping at it. It burned down his throat, while the mellow aftertaste coated his tongue.

"I could see a lot of Peggy in her now. I was… if I had survived… if you father had found me… I could've been her uncle Tony. I could have been her father." He shook his head and stared at the ceiling, concentrating on the cool dew of the glass in his hands. "If things had just been a bit different… she could've been my daughter or my niece."

"And you don't want to hurt her feelings by breaking up with her?" Tony arched a brow. "Because, honestly Steve, this is grounds for a never gonna get back together again break up." He took a sip of his drink.

He snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half smile. "That and I don't want to explain  _why_  I'm breaking up with her." He took another swallow of his drink. "I don't know how people think going to a bar and drinking is fun."

"It's not about drinking, Cap," Tony explained, "is about hanging out with friends for a few hours. The booze is just a bonus, something to do."

"You can hang out with friends without going to bars," he said, taking another sip of his bourbon. "I mean, even before the serum I never was a big drinker."

Tony's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "But you're Irish," he said. He barked a laugh, shaking his head at that. It felt good to laugh at something though, anything to avoiding thinking about what he had to do when he got home, the conversation he was dreading. "Don't the Irish love to drink and party?"

He grinned, shaking his head. "I was a five-foot-four skinny guy. I was the definition of lightweight. Get two glasses" — he held up the glass — "of anything in me and I was done for the evening." He gave a wistful smile, remembering how he and Bucky tried to bar crawl a few times, but their evenings always ended earlier than planned because he'd get sick as a dog after a few glasses, even if he ate something. "I tried though, back in the day, I tried. Just couldn't handle it." He shrugged. "Guess it was for the best."

"Any fun stories?" Tony asked, curiosity in his tone. "Dad never told me any drinking stories about you. Plenty of others but never those."

"Nah, during the war I didn't drink much. Neither did your dad. We were often in his lab, trying out new equipment." He puffed out his cheeks as he sighed. "I was nineteen… I think, yeah. It was '37, year after my mam died. Bucky" — he swallowed down the lump in his throat — "Bucky decided that we were gonna go to Ben Callister's place. He knew a moonshiner. Gotta be careful with moonshine, that stuff can be real good or make ya real sick." He smiled. "So we went, outside the city cause it's been only four years since the Prohibition Repeal. Anyway" — he swallowed the rest of the bourbon — "we went, drank some moonshine and well, I got sick. Threw up all over Bucky. We left after that. He took me home and cleaned me up and tucked me in. Stayed the night and played nursemaid as I nursed a hangover."

"Damn," Tony said, staring at him. "You really were a lightweight." He finished his own drink.

"Yeah, now I can drink all I want," he said. "I better get going." He set the empty glass down and stood up. "Thanks for everything Tony." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I appreciate it."

Tony grinned. "What are friends for" — he pointed at Steve — "And remember, you don't have to explain why."

He frowned. "I'm not rude. My mam raised me better than that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I just… I know, but it doesn't feel right not telling her why I'm ending things."

"Hey, it's your choice. Do what makes you happy."

That's the thing, Tony, I don't know what makes me happy anymore. "Will do. And in the meantime," he said, "your dad promised flying cars, I'm still waiting."

Tony laughed. "Keep waiting. Stark Revision technology is a dead end."

He grinned, shaking his head. "Bye Tony," he said and went to the elevator, hitting the button for down.

* * *

The Christmas decorations did nothing to hide the melancholic gloom that hung in his apartment. The tree twinkled with white lights, the star shimmering on top; Christmas lights hung around the windows, and the Christmas village he picked out with Natasha had been set up on the mantle, fake snow beneath it. It still felt forced — fake, the way she said his apartment in DC felt like. Sam had helped him buy furniture in New York, find things that fit more his personality, but it still didn't feel lived in. It felt like a place he came to sleep and avoid during his waking moments. His suite in Avengers Tower had more character to it — and Tony had decorated it for him!

He flopped down on the couch with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. He pulled out the small velvet box, staring at the earrings. He should save them and give them to Natasha, give Sharon the Amazon gift card like he planned and break up with her. He nodded. Mind made up, he closed the box and stood. He heard keys rattling in the lock and the door open. Sharon walked in, shaking snow from her coat and scarf. "Steve." She gave him a warm smile.

"Sharon." He took a deep breath and flashed her a disarming smile. "We need to talk," he said. Silence hung between them; she didn't say anything but continued to take off her coat and boots. She walked passed him and sat on the couch, patting the space besides her.

"Sit, Steve," she said. He sighed and sat. He swallowed, trying to not show his nervousness. She turned the tv on, turning it to a music station and put the volume on low. He furrowed his brow at the Christmas music, at her excited smile and the glitter of happiness in her blue eyes. Weren't most women afraid of the dreaded  _we need to talk_  statement? Peggy and Howard both said he had no idea how to deal with women. "I know this is a bit early, but I figured an early Christmas present would cheer you up since you've been so glum lately."

"Sharon, you didn't—" he was cut off when she pressed a finger to his lips.

"Shhh, I wanted to do this Steve." She grinned and pulled from her purse a black velvet box topped with a glittering golden bow. "Merry Christmas, Steve."

Swallowing his nerves, he took the box from her and opened it. Inside was a watch, platinum with a navy face and silver hands and numbers, a bit of gold running in the middle. He turned it over and saw the brand Rolex stamped on the back. "Sharon, I… I can't accept this."

"Sure, you can," she said, "I had enough money from Shield." She took the watch from him, opening the band and slipping it onto his wrist. He heard the clasp click, the fit perfect and the watch a comfortable heaviness. She held his hand in both of her smaller ones. "I love you, Steve, and I wanted to get you something nice to show you that love." She kissed his cheek. "I know things have been weird between us since we ran into each other at Aunt Peggy's nursing home, but I hope we can move pass that. I'm not my aunt and I don't want to replace her, and I don't want you to see me as her."

"Sharon—"

"I'm my own person" — she smiled — "It's just a quixotic twist of fate we both ended up loving the same man."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing the burn of tears down from his eyes. "It's a beautiful watch," he said. "Thank you." He licked his lips. "Sharon, I" — want to break up? See other people. Can't do this anymore? Do you know how close I came too being your uncle, maybe even your father? — "I love you too." He forced a smile to his face and pulled out the black box he had. "Got you something nice as well."

Her eyes widen as he placed the box in her hands. "Steve…" she whispered and snapped it open. She let out a breath, not sure if she was happy by what she saw or disappointed. "I love them," she said, "they're beautiful."

"I want to ask you something," he said, taking her hands in his. "Would you be my date to the Howard Stark Christmas Gala?" he swallowed, hoping his didn't gave away anything. Please say no, please say no, please say no, because then I can ask Natasha to be my date.

"Yes, of course I'll be you date Steve," Sharon said, setting the earrings aside. He swallowed his disappointment, masking it with surprise. "When is it?"

"Christmas Eve." He smiled. "I already got a tux, so you'll need a dress."

"Hmm, well, I'm sure I can find something by then." She kissed him. "I'll wear the earrings. Where did you get them again?"

"Uh… Harry Winston." She gave a low whistle. "Tony took me."

"Pricey," she said, grinning and gave him another kiss. "I love them. Thank you again, Steve."

"Well anything for my bes—" he swallowed. "Anything for my beautiful girlfriend." Feeling like such a lair when she grinned at him as she stood up to put her earrings into her jewelry box. He put his head in his hands and sighed, wondering how he got himself into this mess and how he'd get himself out of it.

* * *

The last time he went to a fancy shindig was the Presidential Christmas party. The Howard Stark Christmas gala made the Presidential Christmas party seem trivial. A titanic Christmas tree with ribbon and tinsel, giant plastic ornaments, hundreds of lights and a glittering star on top stood in the center of the ballroom. A grand staircase lead to the ballroom. Boughs of holly with lights and bows hung at the top of the walls and between the French windows stood giant nutcrackers. A live orchestra sat in one corner, playing soft music that transported the listener back to Victorian era Christmases. And hanging from the ceiling was a luxurious crystal chandelier, that helped illuminated the polished white marble dance floor. He felt overwhelmed by it all. The luxury and the sophistication, so far removed from his humble roots. The Rolex was heavy on his wrist and his perfectly fitted tuxedo felt awkward and uncomfortable as his gelled back hair.

He glanced at Sharon. She wore an off-shoulder mermaid dress that hugged her curves. It was a lovely rich red with gold sequins along the hem. The diamonds sparkling in her ears and a diamond necklace around her throat. With her hair pulled up in a bun, a few locks curled and framing her face; she looked pretty, dolled up like this. He figured he should be proud with such a beautiful woman on his arm, attending such a lavish function as this. He had come so far from the poor skinny kid from Brooklyn, but he didn't feel that. Instead he felt like the skinny kid from Brooklyn, out of place and aware that he didn't belong among such extravagance. Sharon smiled at him. "Ready?" she asked.

No. "As I'll ever," he said, and they descended the grand staircase; Tony greeted them at the bottom and thanked them for coming. Pepper was at his side, her hair curled and loose, wearing an emerald green backless dress, the necklace Tony had gotten for her glittering on her neck. He smiled at them both and thanked them for inviting them. Next came Clint and his date. Steve looked up at the woman on Clint's arm, and felt an instant kinship with her. Humble folk amongst so much luxury. She wore a princess v-line chiffon lace floor length dress of a soft lilac color, floral like patterns on the bodice and the sleeves. Tony and Pepper greeted them.

"Steve," Clint said, smiling once he pried himself and his date away from a very confused Pepper and Tony. "Meet my wife, Laura."

"You're… you're wife?" Steve asked, surprised. He shook the woman's hand, happy to feel she had a good grip. "Hello, ma'am, pleasure to meet you."

"Well you  _are_  old fashion," Laura said with a laugh. "Nice to meet you Steve." She smiled at Clint. "Seems Clint didn't tell you or Tony for that matter, about me. Figures."

"Don't want weirdos bustin' down the door," Clint grumbled, looking strange in a tux. "Especially after what happened earlier this year."

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "It's best I didn't know, Mrs. Barton."

"Laura, please," she said, "I'm not old enough for that yet." She smiled at Sharon. "And you must be Steve's—"

"Girlfriend," Sharon said. "Sharon. I uh… worked with your husband a few times." She smiled at Clint, who gave her a nod, his expression unreadable. Steve swallowed, wondering why Clint was so cool towards Sharon.

"Girlfriend? Oh wow, I thought you were his sister!"

He paled at that. Thanks Laura, now I have  _another reasons_  to feel awkward in this relationship. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Fake it 'til ya feel it, Steve. You can do it. Just like the USO tours. "No, no, she's my girlfriend, lovely girlfriend," he said, smiling at Sharon, hoping warm affection was in his gaze. Sharon smiled back, but her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"C'mon Laura, you're embarrassing him, there's some food over there, looks like Tony got shrimp cocktails," Clint said, and tugged his wife over to the food. Laura waved bye to them. He puffed out his cheeks in a sigh as he watched them go.

"Do I really look like your sister?" Sharon asked, frowning. He stared at her, trying to find an answer. She looked more like Peggy to him than someone that could pass as his sister. Tony and Pepper were greeting the newest guests.

"Not really, your eyes are brown, mine are blue." He shrugged. "Must be the hair, we're both blond." He forced a chuckle, wondering if he needed to stand here or should he go and mingle with all the rich and important people. He tried looking for Sam but didn't see his friend. Sharon nudged him.

"Look," she said, nodding to the woman on Bruce Banner's arm, "she's pretty."

He stared, gob-smacked. Wearing a midnight blue strapless dress with a sparkly semi-transparent train that made it look like the dress had wings, was Natasha. Diamonds hung from her ears and around her throat, her red hair tied in a high bun and secured with a diamond clasp. White silk gloves that ended mid bicep adorn her arms; her expression was haughty, her make up done just so to make her green eyes pop.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," he whispered, staking a few steps towards where Natasha and Bruce stood by Tony and Pepper. He didn't realize he had let go of Sharon's hand until she gave his fingers a tug. Sharon gave him a look, he frowned and went back to her side. He watched Natasha give Tony her tight lip smile, inclining her head and then thread her arm through Bruce's. His heart sank, realizing he waited too long once again. First Peggy, now Natasha? King of waiting too long, huh? He smiled though, when they came over to them. "Natasha, you look… lovely feels inadequate." He felt nervous yet comfortable with Natasha's gaze on him. He remembered Peggy in her stunning red dress that night in the bar in London; this moment felt the same.

"Yeah, Romanoff," Sharon said, "you look beautiful."

Natasha smiled. "Thank you," she said, "you look lovely too Carter." The music swelled around them, and he didn't know what to say. Instead he watched the remaining guests come down the staircase, noting how they mingled about on the edge of the dance floor. Politicians clumping together, important military personal in another, businessmen and local politicians and celebrities in another group. The who's who all here, chittering and chattering about the latest gossip, policy or business venture. If he squinted, he could see the ghostly figures of the paparazzi trying to take pictures through the windows.

"So how long have you and Banner been together?" Sharon asked, drawing his attention back to Natasha and Bruce.

"Yeah," he said, feeling the need to say something because etiquette demanded it. "You both deserve a win."

Bruce looked uncomfortable and Natasha's gaze turned frigid. "Not long," she said, her voice cool, "we're more friends." Her eyes slid to glance at Bruce. "Two friends not wanting to go to this alone."

"I see," Sharon said, smiling as a tuxedo clad waiter came by, a silver platter with flutes of champagne on it. She took two, handing one to him. His lips twitched into a smile as he took it from her. Bruce and Natasha also took some champagne.

"It's good to see you again, Steve," she said, sipping at her drink, "you look good, better than when we ran into each other at Avengers Tower."

"Oh uh… thanks," he said and took a long swallow of his champagne. He lowered the flute when he felt everyone stare at him, half of his champagne gone. "What?"

"Don't guzzle your champagne, Steve," Sharon hissed, "you sip it." She demonstrated, ignoring Natasha rolling her eyes. "Don't act—"

He flushed. "Like a country bumpkin?" He gave a lopsided grin and a nervous chuckle, trying to ease the tension. Sharon frowned, shifting awkwardly beneath Natasha's scowl.

"I was going to say impolite," she muttered, scowling back at Natasha. He glanced at Bruce who gave him a shrug, just as confused by the women's hostility towards each other as he was. "It's okay Steve, just remember next time."

"Yeah, sure."

"Ladies and gentlemen," JARVIS said, his robotic voice echoing through the spacious ballroom; Tony, with Pepper on his arm, walked through the crowds to the center of the dance floor. "Mr. Tony Stark and Ms. Pepper Potts would like to welcome you all to the first annual Howard Stark Christmas gala." Everyone clapped politely. "The dance floor is now open, dinner will be served at seven-thirty." The band struck up a cherry minute. Tony took Pepper in his arms and they began to dance; the lights dimmed, and a spotlight focused on them as they twirled and wove along invisible paths only they knew upon the marble floor. After a minute or so, the lights brightened, and more couples joined them. Bruce and Natasha went to the dance floor. He watched her, longing in his gaze.

"Steve?" Sharon asked, looking at him. He swallowed, squeezing her fingers. "You okay?"

"Just uh… Just don't know how to dance," he said, flushing as he stared at glossy dress shows on his feet. "Never got… never did make that date with your aunt." He swallowed. "So, she uh… never taught me. I don't wanna step on your feet."

"It's okay," she said, taking his champagne flute and setting it down next to hers. She smiled at him. "I'll show you how. I'm sure you're not that bad." She kissed his cheek and took his hands. He swallowed as she positioned his hands on her body and began to lead him. They struggled for control for a bit, but he gave in an allowed her to have full control. He was a quick study though and soon he was dancing as if he had danced every day of his life. He noticed Natasha watching him and gave her a dopey grin.

"Ow," he muttered when Sharon stepped on his foot. He looked at her as they twirled around.

"Sorry," she said, "missed a step."

"S'okay," he said, as the music ended. He dipped down and gave her a sweet chaste kissed. "You're beautiful." Smiling when she smiled back at him. He traced her cheek with the pad of his finger.

"Partner change," JARVIS said. Steve blinked in confusion and people swarmed around, swapping partners. Tony got Laura, Clint got the celebrity Crimson Johnson, Bruce got Pepper. A handsome man around his age (biological age that is), came and whisked Sharon away. Turned out it was the celebrity star Topher Evens. Natasha came up to him, smirking. He swallowed.

"Looks like you need a partner," she said, taking his hands, putting on her hip and holding the other. "Hate for you to have to sit this one out."

"Nat, I… uh…" he fumbled for words. She shook her head as the music struck up again. "I… I want to—"

"Relax Steve," she said, leading them. "Relax and let your body do the talking. Just listen to the music."

He nodded, doing as she said. The music swelled around them, the delicate sighs of the flutes and hums of the violas and violins. The boldness of the trumpets and French horns and the steady rumble of the cellos and bassoons. It wrapped around him, along with the delicate scent of Natasha's perfume: rose and jasmine with just a hint of lilac. He tucked her closer to her body closer to his, pleased to feel how well she fit against him — like the missing piece of a puzzle. He smiled down at her, getting lose in the brilliance of her green eyes. He didn't know when he began to lead her, but he did, weaving through the crowd.

The music ended, and they stopped. "Oh." He looked up when she said that, noting the mistletoe that hung over their heads. "Mistletoe again," she said, a little smile gracing her lips. He sighed and cupped her face in his hands. "Steve?" He answered her with a kiss. She hesitated for a moment before giving in. She moaned, opening her mouth when his tongue graced her lips. She told him to let his body do the talking, so he put every ounce of love in the kiss, hoping she'll understand.

He pulled away when the need to breath became too much. He watched her, trying to get his thoughts into order; his hands slipped down to her biceps, thumbs caressing her skin. "I love you, Natasha." He let out a quick breath. "I've been in love with you for so long now and I should've told you that day… at the graveyard." He shook his head. "But I let you walk away like a damn fool." He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. "I love you, I love you so much." He smiled at her, feeling a sense of peace wash over him.

"Steve?" a sad voice said from behind him. He closed his eyes and steeled himself. Sharon was staring at him, with a heartbroken look on her face. "Are you… I thought—"

"I'm sorry," he said, turning to face her, but holding onto Natasha's hand. "I'm sorry, but I can't keep doing this anymore. I don't love you. I could've been your uncle or even your father. And… I loved your aunt. I know you two are different people, but it's different for me. I still think of your aunt as a young woman, not the elderly one in the nursing home."

"Steve, don't do this," Natasha said, trying to pull her hand free from his. "Sharon's nice, she deserves a chance, she'll make you happy. I won't. I'm… I'm not good enough for you, I'm broken."

He clenched his jaw. "I don't care," he said, "everyone seems me an sees this… out of place man, lost in time. Even before the serum, everyone underestimated me, refused to hear what I wanted." He shot looks at both women. "I know what I want, and I want you Natasha. You are good enough for me. You always have been. I don't care if you're broken, because I'm a bit broken too."

"Steve, don't talk like this," she said.

"Steve, why didn't you talk to me? I would've listened, we could've worked something out," Sharon said. He shook his head, knowing that his relationship with Sharon had been doomed from the start. He never loved her, he understood that now. And how could he live with himself, trapping her in a loveless relationship. "Steve?"

"No." He shook his head. "No, Sharon, nothing would've worked. I never loved you." He looked at Natasha. "I was already in love with someone else."

"Don't do something you'll regret."

"I've already done everything I'll regret." He held her hand, noting that Clint and Tony had come over. "And if I let you go now, I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

"Nat, stop lying to yourself," Clint said, "you've been miserable since you got back from Russia. A few days ago, when you ran into him, was the happiest I've seen you in a long time." Clint ignored her glare.

"Steve, please I—" Natasha began but he shook her head.

"No, no. Stop it, Natasha. I love you, all of you. I accept your past, I'll face any trial or tribulation with you, at my side. You aren't broken, you are good enough for me. You are a beautiful, kind, warm hearted woman" — he stroked her cheek — "so strong and fierce." He kissed her again and pulled away after a heartbeat or two. He unclasped the watch and handed it to Sharon. "I'm sorry Sharon. I'm sorry I had to ruin your Christmas like this, I really am."

"Steve, you're making a mistake," Natasha said as he placed the heavy Rolex into Sharon's hand. "Don't do this. This isn't right."

"No," he said, "staying with Sharon isn't right. I… I don't understand why you can't see it, can't accept that I love you." He sighed, feeling caged in. "I need some air." He shouldered his way through his friends and the crowd, finally making it the edge of the room. "JARVIS?"

"The back exit is to your left," the AI said.

"Thanks," he said, and snuck out of the gala, nursing a bruised ego and a broken heart. He glanced back at the building, noting the swarming paparazzi, their cameras flashing and voices shouting. He shivered in the cold, his tuxedo jacket worthless against the wintery chill. He bowed his head and began to walk away.

* * *

He ended up in a church, head bow and listening to the grandfatherly priest speak of God's love and forgiveness. There was a sacred festiveness to the church, it was something common among Houses of God during Christmastime. He stuck out like a sore thumb though, dressed in his tuxedo. Nobody said anything, but he heard them whisper about it amongst themselves. He didn't care though. He knew that he had blown his last chance with Natasha. "At least I told her how I felt," he whispered, staring at his clasped hands. "Why Lord? First you take my father before I was born, then you take my mother when I was eighteen and my best friend… who I thought I lost, you give back to me, but he's twisted and cruel, with no memory of himself. I found a girl and then you take her from me in this twist of fate. I finally find someone else, and… she rejects me." He sniffed. "I thought you were just and merciful, but why must I suffer like this? What more must I do? How much more must I sacrifice before I find some peace?" He stared at the polished wood crucifix at the other end of the church. Christ nailed to the cross with his crown of thorns, the wound in his side and blood seeping from his hands and feet, a look of pain etched into his face. "Your son died for our sins, and I tried to live my life according to how you would wish… but… I don't know how much more I can give you before I break. Please… show me a sign… anything. I can't lose any more people I care about."

He wiped his eyes, listening to the choir lead the congregate in Christmas songs. He wondered if God heard him or if God ignored him like He had done every other time he prayed. It was Christmas Eve, so maybe God had heard, at least he hoped. "Steve?"

He turned, eyes widening at the sight of Natasha, wrapped up in a fur coat. "Natasha."

"Hey," she gave him a small smile. "May I join you?" she asked, looking at the almost empty pew. He nodded, scooting over and she sat down next to him. "Sharon wanted me to give you these" — she opened her gloved hand to reveal the diamond earrings — "she told me to tell you, that you need to give these to your girlfriend." She gave him that smirk he loved so much, she tipped them into his hand.

"Don't know who that'll be though," he sighed and stuffed the earrings into his breast pocket. "Thanks."

"Tony told me, well he and Sharon told me how you've been… unhappy for a while." He grunted. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. "I understand." His hand fell over hers and he smiled when she squeezed his fingers. "It's hard sometimes, keeping faith."

"Yeah," she agreed, "it is." She rested her head on his shoulder. He let her hand go, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her close. "But what else do we have when everything else is gone but faith?"

"Love." He nodded. "We have love and faith." He looked at her, seeing the same emotions — love and desire, hope and faith — reflected in her eyes. "We have those at least, when all else fails."

"Are they enough though?" she swallowed, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a small smile. "They don't seem like enough."

"They'll have to be, because what else do we have when we have nothing?" he asked. She smiled as she nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. He dipped his head and leaned forward to kiss her, she met him the rest of the way and he sank into it. They broke apart when they needed air. He rested his forehead against hers. "You know, we can go back to my place," he said, "watch a movie, open presents?"

"Your apartment or your tower suite?"

"Tower suite, it feels more like home, we can get my apartment feeling like that once Sharon moves out." She chuckled. "Deal?"

"Yeah," she said, "deal." She nuzzled his cheek and he stole another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MCU (c) Marvel Studios
> 
> Happy New Year everyone! I don't know why I got this chapter done so quickly, but I did. Hope you enjoy it. I'll see you in 2019 as I finish up the last four chapters of this. Keep an eye out for my secret Santa fic. ^o^
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!


	4. The Fourth Christmas - 2015

Natasha giggled as Steve held onto her out stretched hands; she glanced over her shoulder, making sure she didn't run into any one as she steered him towards a less crowded section of ice so he could get his skates under him. "I haven't done this in years and you expect me to teach you how to skate?" she asked. It was a nice clear wintery day in early December. The sky was blue, the sun a tad warm (but still requiring a coat and gloves), and there was this feeling in the air; a feeling she couldn't quite put her finger on but made her hopeful and optimistic about the future. For once, there was no mission the Avengers needed to be on, so Steve suggested they have some fun around New York. Which lead to them ice skating at the Rockefeller Center or rather, her teaching Steve how to skate.

"Never… never got a chance to ice skate before. Always wanted to, though," he said, his legs wobbly as he took baby slides. She smiled at him, enjoying the determine look of concentration of his face. "Besides you're Russian." He flashed her a boyish smirk.

She tossed her head back and laugh. "Doesn't mean anything, I know a few Russians that can't skate." She tugged him along, picking up a bit of speed. "Speed helps with the balance." She smiled as she glided backwards in a circle. He nodded, trying to match her speed but there was a hesitation about it, something she never saw in his movements before. "Steve, relax. You're not gonna fall."

"No, no it's not that—" he stopped licking his lips. She cocked her head, waiting for him to continue, but he didn't. Instead the Christmas music the rink was playing mingled with the chatter and laughter of the other skaters filled the void. She waited, losing herself in the sound of the skates scraping against the ice as they went around in wide lazy circles. He looked handsome in his tawny wool coat, the top of his grey mock cashmere turtleneck peeking out and his dark wash blue jeans bringing out his eyes. He had a black-white-and-red beanie that said  _I Heart New York_  on, the poofy pompom bobbing with every nod of his head. He bought it as a tourist stop much to her chagrin, but he had laughed and handed over the ten dollars for the hat. His cheeks and nose were red with cold and his lips looked a bit chapped. She smoothed her thumbs over his gloved knuckles, revealing in the feel of the supple leather.

"Steve?" she asked, when the silence between them got too much. He looked up at her, and she noted trepidation in his blue eyes. "What's wrong?" She bit her lip, hoping he wasn't having a panic attack. "Do you need to sit down? We can. It's no big deal."

"No, no I" — he swallowed and bowed his head — "do you know what's under the ice?" he whispered. She blinked, blood leaving her face.

"Der'mo." She shook her head, kicking herself for forgetting that this could have caused him to have a panic attack. His mental health — he still refused to see a psychiatrist — had vastly improved since she met him. Since they started dating he's been sleeping better with less nightmares, he smiled more and seemed happier and more upbeat, talked more freely about his past — about the people he lost. He had his bad days (everyone does), but they were few and far between. Not like last year, when he seemed constantly miserable or the two previous years when he seemed lost and distant. When she asked about it, he had attributed it to her and her grounding presents. He told her she made him feel at home. Then he kissed her, their first kiss as a couple.

She had almost bolted, afraid of someone loving her in such an intimate fashion, of being a liability or a potential target for her enemies. But she stayed because he noticed the anxiety in her eyes and asked her — softly, gently — to stay. That night she gave him everything she had.

"Nat?" he asked, drawing her from her thought. "You okay?"

"Are you?" she asked, pulling him over to the edge of the rink so he could hold onto something other than her hands. She shook her hands, flexing them to make sure he hadn't broken her bones from squeezing too hard. He grimaced.

"Sorry."

"No, no." She smiled. "I'm fine. Just making sure they don't cramp." She rubbed his arm, once blood started circulating back into her fingers. "What about you?" she asked. He gave a little shrug, holding onto the barrier. "Steve?"

"I just… when you said I wasn't gonna fall, I thought—" he stopped shaking his head. "You'll probably think it's stupid. It's an ice rink." He turned to look at the other skaters, she followed his gaze, watching them and envying their carefree attitude. She hugged him, resting her head against his chest and listening to his steady heartbeat.

"I won't think it's stupid." She titled her head up to stare at him; her gaze tracing his jaw. "Tell me."

"I thought" — he took a breath and rubbed his face with his hands, before pulling away from her. He gripped the barrier, shoulders hunched up in a defensive posture and he looked away, ashamed of this weakness. — "I thought I was gonna fall through the ice and freeze again." He looked at the sky, gasping for breath. She wondered if Sharon ever laughed at him whenever he opened up to her about stuff like this. She could see the other woman do it too, a little giggle and some disarming words like he's being silly. "Pretty stupid, huh?"

She swallowed. "No," she said, looping her arm around his. "It's not. Considering that you were frozen for seventy years, it's a legitimate concern." She kicked at the ice with the top of her skate. "Pretty sure you have nothing to worry about though. Think beneath the ice is just concrete and the cooling system."

"Figures," he said, "overreacting." He shook his head. She rubbed his back, not liking how he shuddered beneath her touch.

"Steve, you were frozen for seventy years, it's understandable," she said. "We can leave, I won't be upset." She smiled. "Never liked skating."

"No," he said. "No, we can continue. Just need a moment." He closed his eyes and ran another hand down his face. "What about you? Ever had something like this happen?"

She swallowed. A child shrieked in delight, she looked and watched as the girl's parents pulled her along between them, her cherubic face bright and carefree. She envied that little girl, knowing she'll grow up with two loving parents and go to school and make friends and never once have to kill. "Once," she said, "a few months after Clint got me out. He found out I did ballet." She glanced down at her feet. Ballet always cleared her head; during the chaotic months after the Red Room, she had danced every spare moment she got. The precision needed for perfection kept her mind focus and distracted from the other things going on in her life: her fear that the Red Room would find her and kill her and kill Clint, her jumbled feelings for Clint, the guilt for all the people she killed, the repressed memories of her childhood returning to her as vivid nightmares. So, she danced and danced and danced. "So," she said, leaning against the barrier to watch the people skate, it was easier to tell the story like this than to look at Steve's face. "So, he took me to a ballet. It was Swan Lake" — she spared him a glance and a smile — "my favorite. I lasted a few minutes before I had to get up and leave. I hid in the ladies' room, crying and clawing at my arms until they were covered in bloody scratches." She took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "Laura found me after the ballet, cleaned me up and they took me home." She gave him a blithe smile. "Never been to a ballet since."

"But you still dance? I've seen you, drawn you!" he said. She nodded, taking his hand and patting it.

"Yes, I still dance. I just can't… can't watch others dance," she said. He nodded, squeezing her hand. "You feeling better?" she asked, searching his face for any more signs of an impending panic attack. He nodded.

"Yeah, I am." He pushed out towards the center of the rink. "C'mon, I think I got my skates under me now. Don't want to waste the entire afternoon." He held out his hand. "Shall we?" he asked with a little jaunt of his head and a wink.

She laughed, shaking her head. "You're a sap," she said, taking his hand, giggling as he pulled her close and stole a kiss. The corners of her lips tugged into a frown when she noticed a hint of fear in his eyes. No, it wasn't fear, it was nervousness. What could he be nervous about? Skating? "But I love you," she said, smiling and feeling a rush of relief when that hint of nervousness vanished from his eyes.

"I love you too," he said, tucking her close into his side as he held her hand. He pushed off, gliding and she followed him, their clasped hands tethering them to each other. The Christmas music and happy laughter of the other skaters swelled around them and that brief moment of shadowy darkness lifted with warmth and good cheer. Still, Steve seemed tense, and now that she noticed it, she couldn't un-see it. Him being off bothered her, and she kept a vigilant eye on her surroundings, wondering if he had noticed something with his super soldier senses that her own senses failed to notice. "You can relax," he said, a smile on his lips. "I'm fine. No need to be so tense." His thumb graced her knuckles.

"I'm not tense," she said, squaring her shoulders, "you're the one that's tense." A group fo rowdy teenagers whizzed by them, the less coordinated ones flailed while their friends laughed, the entire group clinging to each other. Steve watched with a pensive look on his face. She squeezed his hand and he gave her another smile. "We're still decorating the tree when we get back, right?" she asked, they had gotten a beautiful Douglas Fir yesterday and planned to decorate it this evening.

"Oh, yeah," he said, coming out of his thoughts. He glanced at his watch. "We should get home and do it then. Can't be late."

"Late for what?" she asked as he led her towards the rink's exit. "Steve?" she frowned, not liking that he was keeping something from her. "I don't like secrets."

"It's not a secret," he said, sounding a bit defensive, "it's a surprise. Can't be surprised if you know about it." He grabbed the gate, swinging it open with a loud unoiled creak. They stomped over to a bench where they had left their shoes and took off the skates. She sighed, glad that her feet were finally free from the tight embrace of the skates. She wiggled her toes before putting her calf high boots back on. "Hey." Steve held his boot in his hand. "Do… would be opposed if we decorated the tree tonight? Continue wandering around New York for a little bit and then go home."

"Like how late?" she arched a brow, wondering what he was planning. She didn't like seeing him this way.

"Not late, after dinner… we can decorate it and have hot chocolate," he said, smiling. She nodded, glad to see his smile reach his eyes. "Does that sound fun?"

"It does." She smiled, retying the red scarf around her neck as he put his boots back on. He clapped his hands once he stood up, getting the feeling back into his fingers. "So, any destination in mind?" she asked as they headed back over to the desk to return their skates. The pimple-faced teenager working the counter gave them a sullen look as he took their skates. She tugged Steve's hand, not wanting him to try and cheer the kid up. She swore being unhappy and glum was the hip and edgy thing for kids to be in this day and age. Steve still couldn't quiet grasp that idea of modern American culture. They left the rink, the sounds of the sidewalk and busy New York City engulfed them. The fresh watery scent of snow, the noxious smell of exhaust, people shouting and cars honking all beneath the looming sentinels of the skyscrapers. She felt cozy and safe, her arm threaded through Steve's as they walked along, just another young couple out enjoying the early December sunshine.

"Not, really. I figured we'd stop when we find something that catches our eye," he said. "You don't mind meandering do you?"

"We can always mosey long," she said, "gotta take it slow, I'm with a senior citizen after all." She smirked, giggling as he rolled his eyes.

"Hardy har-har." He gave her a grin, kissing the tip of her nose. "You gonna be my live-in nurse? Take care of me?" He smirked. "Give me a sponge bath?"

"Oh, I'll give you more than just a sponge bath," she said. He laughed, wrinkling his nose and gave her a shove with his hip.

"You're gross, Nat," he said, "taking advantage of a senior citizen! That's low, even for you."

"It's not taking advantage when the senior citizen encourages me," she said, pulling free from his arm and looping her arms around his neck. "And you  _do_  encourage me" — she kissed him — "so sweetly too." She shivered when he gave a little growl, the sound vibrating against her lips. "We can always skip the window-shopping and go home. I can give you that sponge bath you want."

His eyes smoldered, and she licked her lips in anticipation. People swelled around them, unaware of the sexual tension between them. She didn't notice nor care about the random strangers, too caught up in Steve's gaze, his embrace, the thrill of his desire for her. She pressed herself closer to him. "It's tempting," he husked, his hands running up her sides. "So tempting."

"But…"

"But," he said, "I want to do more than just lounge at home and have—"

"Amazing sex?" she frowned when she heard a beep. They pulled apart to allow Steve to reach into his pocket and fish out his phone. He thumbed it on, frowning. "Is that from Sam?" she asked, standing on her tip-toes to read the message upside down. Steve nodded.

"Yeah, he's in Europe. Still looking for Bucky." His shoulders slumped. "Sam's coming home next week, found nothing. Again." He shoved the phone back into his pocket. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

She took his hand, resuming their stroll towards some undetermined destination. "Hmm?" She squeezed his fingers.

"You uh… you said you knew Bucky during the time I was frozen?"

"Yeah?" she arched a brow, wondering where he was going with this. She told him about her past relationships with Alexi and James, her brief emotional fling with Clint, and her quick relationship with Kyle after she got comfortable at Shield. "Why?"

"Did he uh… did he ever mention me? Talk about me?" Steve asked, a strange look on his face. "Was… was my friend still in there?"

She closed her eyes, tightening her grip on his hand. "It's difficult to say. I don't know what happened. What I think happened is that he had a mission in the States and something there triggered a memory or a series of memories that allowed him to shake off Hydra's control for a while. We met and…" she licked her lips, "had a romantic relationship. I'm not sure if he mentioned you specifically but I think he's in there Steve. Just buried deep down and caked with blood." She smiled. "He did mention that he was following someone, a skinny kid that didn't know when to run away from a fight." She squeezed his hand again, running her thumb over his knuckles. "He said he missed that guy, wondered what happened to him."

Steve was silent for a long time and she worried she hit a nerve that he didn't like touched. He stopped and wrapped her up in a hug. "Thank you," he said, "there's still hope."

"There's always hope, Steve." She patted his back. "You'll find him, you'll bring him back. I know you will." She held him tighter as a shuddering sigh escaped him. She pulled away after a moment and guided him to a bench, rubbing the spot between his shoulders. "It's going to be okay."

"I know, I know, it's just… I should be out there looking for him. Sam insisted I stay here and spend Christmas with you but—"

"I would've come if you had asked or had just told me what you were planning," she said, "we're lovers but we're also partners, and I have your back. No matter what." She kissed his cheek. "I mean it."

He gave her a smile. "Thanks," he said, "I needed that. It's just… something about today. I'm not sure. Guess it's just nerves."

"I know Shield is technically dismantled, but I still have some numbers for counselors and psychiatrists. Real good ones that are experience in dealing with PTSD and long-term trauma."

He shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine. Don't need to be put in a bug house," he said. She didn't believe him and wanted to tell him he wasn't crazy, and they don't put PTSD suffers into an insane asylum. That it's okay to be suffering because of what he went through. Yet, she told him that before when they talked about this, so he knew, he just didn't do it. "Just anxious about tonight, I guess."

"That fancy dinner we're invited too?" she asked. He had been vague about this dinner, saying only that she needed to wear something nice (hinting at the dress she wore to the Howard Stark Christmas Gala last year).

"We're not invited, I'm taking you out on a proper date," he groused. She shook her head and kissed his cheek. "I only said that because I knew you'd make a fuss if I said it was a date. Tony helped me pick the restaurant."

"Now I'm suspicious," she said, poking him in the ribs, he grunted a laugh, pushing her hand away. "What are you planning Rogers. Hmmm?" She tickled him again and he squirmed away.

"Not plannin' anythin'," he said, "can't I just take my best girl out to a really nice dinner and not have her be suspicious?"

"Nope," she said, "because your 'best girl' is Black Widow, and she knows you too well to know that you just don't take her to a fancy restaurant that Tony Stark helped you pick out because you want to have a really nice dinner." She scooted closer to him. "So, spill before I tickle it outta you."

"Nope," he said, grabbing her hands, a smile blooming on his face. "Not gonna happen, you gotta wait for tonight." She huffed in frustration at that, annoyed that he laughed at her, but it dissolved when he blew on her hands to warm them and then kissed the tips of her fingers. "Nat, I—"

"Mm?"

"You make me happy," he said, rubbing her fingers between his hands. "Real happy." His smile was warm, tender and comforting; the physical manifestation of unconditional love. The sounds of the city swirled around her, a bird twittering in a bare tree, a hot dog vender hawking his wears, people laughing and children shrieking. The light dimmed, a cloud passing over the brilliant blaze of the winter sun. She felt content, peaceful. As if whatever the future brought her she could weather it so long as Steve was besides her. She leaned over and kissed him, her fingertips against his jaw.

It was a sweet kiss, a tender kiss. A kiss shared between two people that pieced themselves together and found a beautiful mosaic within each other. She pulled away, smiling a little bit. "Steve," she said, her lips brushing against his.

"Hm?"

"Why all the fancy plans?" she asked, nuzzling his nose. "An outing in Manhattan, a fancy dinner planned for this evening" — she wiggled her fingers against his stomach. He choked on laughter as he fought off her hands. — "you're being awfully secretive Rogers."

He grabbed her hands. "You'll just have to wait to find out," he said and kissed her. She sighed in contentment, sinking into the kiss. For a moment, the world fell away and nothing else mattered but him and their love.

"Dude," a voice said; she and Steve broke apart to see two boys, both lean and lanky with gangly limbs, their eyes the size of dinner plates and their mouths hanging open. One had his phone out as if he just took a picture. Steve tilted his head, confused by their expressions, but she knew, and it chilled her blood. "You're Captain America and Black Widow." As soon as the teenage boy said that, Steve's face blanched.

"No, we're not," she said, her face void of emotion. "I'm Mary Matthers and this is Ben Farrell." She stood up, tugging Steve's hand. She heard the boys gasp when Steve stood up, impressed with his physique. "May I see your phone?" she asked, holding out her hand and giving them a disarming smile. The one with the phone shook his head, pocketing it. She ground her teeth. She didn't want to rob a kid but—

"We'll delete it," the older boy said, nudging the younger (who she guessed was his younger brother). He pulled out a notebook and a pen, she arched a brow. "If you promise to give us your autographs" — he held the notebook away — "your  _real_  autographs."

"Sure," Steve agreed, holding out his hand. The boy handed him the notebook and he flipped through the pages. "Pretty good," he said, and she peeked over his shoulder, smiling a little at the sketches the boy did. "Keep practicing and you'll be better than me." He found a blank spot in the note book and signed his name, even adding a little shield to it. He handed the notebook to her. She shook her head, glaring at the page.

"You better keep your word," she said as she signed her name, snapping the book around the pen and handing it back to the boy. "Don't want to get in trouble with Stark Industries PR department."

The boys looked even more star-struck about the prospect of Stark Industries PR department contacting them. "Thanks," the boys chirped and ran off, muttering amongst them as they ogled the signatures. Steve chuckled, snaking his arm around her. He pressed a kiss to her temple and she glared at him.

"Really?" she hissed. "After what just happened?" She growled when he chuckled and nuzzled her neck. Curse him and his ridiculously need to be tactile. "Steve."

"Relax, it was just two kids and they'll delete the picture. We gave them our autographs," he said and steered her towards the subway. "But to be cautious, let's get home and we can decorate the tree before going to dinner."

She sighed. "I guess," she said, a bit glum because she was looking forward to wandering Manhattan with him. He squeezed her. "Make it up to me?"

"Sure," he said, smiling as he led her towards the subway entrance. "We can do this again with better disguises."

"Or less PDA."

"You know, you told me once that that public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable." He pulled her out of the stream of people, his arms around her waist as he pulled her back flush against his board muscular chest.

"Yes, they do," she said, gasping a little as his lips ghosted over the sensitive spot on her neck. "Your point?" she arched a brow. He kissed her neck and she closed her eyes, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"Still uncomfortable?" he asked, letting her go and heading into the crowd of people. She stood there for half a heartbeat too long, licking her lips and getting her desire under control.

"Damn you, Rogers," she grumbled and trotted to catch up to him.

* * *

Steve's heart was thumping beneath her palm, a sure steady beat that lulled her into a state of blissful ease. She was warm, tucked up against his side and the blankets covering them. A languid smile graced her lips, the ache between her legs pleasant and welcomed. His phone began to beep, and he grumbled as he grabbed for it. It fell to the carpet with a soft thump. "Jesus Christ, Tony just has to make these things annoying, doesn't he?" He straightened, phone in hand and the blankets pooling around his waist. She shivered.

"It's probably nothing, Steve," she said, "get back here and snuggle. It's chilly without you." She smiled up at him, and he leaned down to kiss her. She sighed, drawing it out into several long lazy kisses.

"Love to snuggle more, doll, but we have to get up."

She pouted, her feet nudging the three cats snoozing at the foot of the bed. "Why?" she asked. "Mission?" Fury hadn't contacted them about anything recently. Shield may be gone, but the Avengers filled that gap and Fury was the indirect leader of the group. She didn't want a mission for Christmas. Three-year streak holding steady, let's make it a fourth year. She thought.

"Kinda," he said, "Fury isn't calling. But you do need to get dressed," he said, pulling the comforter off and getting out of bed. The cats watched him head to the bathroom. "And it looks like we'll have to decorate the tree after. Since you insisted on unwrapping presents," he said and gave her a wink.

"Well, you didn't seem to be complaining," she called, flopping back onto the bed and stretched. She heard him come back to the bed, the mattress dipping with his added weight. He straddled her body, caging her in with his arms and warm muscular bulk. She grinned. "What? Don't like that kind of talk, Steve?"

"You know what Romanoff?" he smirked, his eyes smoldering with love and lust. She shivered, a board smirk spreading across her lips as she pressed her knee to his groin. He gave a soft groan. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph."

"I know that, Rogers," she cooed into his throat as she pressed sucking kisses against his skin. He growled, using his weight to push her knee away and press his hips against hers. She smirked at the feel of him. He kissed her cheek, then lips, nuzzled her chin and gave it a soft nip so she'd title her head back and expose her throat to him. She moaned as he kissed and suck, his fingers massaging her scalp and the warmth return to pool between her legs. "Steve…" she whispered as he trailed lazy kisses along her collarbone and breasts. He stopped, pressing his nose between her cleavage before resting his head on her breasts. She bucked her hips, his weight becoming heavy and annoying. "Steve."

"What am I doing, Nat?" he asked. His tone sounded distant and lost. She wiggled her arms free and cradled his head, running her fingers through his soft hair. "After… y'know before the ice I thought one day I'll meet a nice girl, marry her and settle down and start a family." He kissed her breast. "I wanted that. I wanted that so bad. Find some place I can call home, where I didn't lose everyone."

"Then the ice?" she asked. He nodded, pulling her closer. She waited for him to continue, providing him the comfort and solidarity he needed.

"Then the ice and… now… I'm not sure if having a family and stability is for me. I just… you know our last mission? The one with the freaky robot? Thank God, Tony destroyed it."

"Yeah, I think Hulk did, Tony seemed pretty enamored with the idea of a fully functional AI."

"Regardless, before… it looked at me… looked at me as if it saw right through me and into my soul." He shuddered, holding her tight and hiding his face in her breasts. "It told me…well, it said: Captain Rogers, Steven G. A soldier without a war."

"Is that's what's been bothering you?" she asked. "Something a robot said? Don't worry about it Steve. I love you. You have friends, and I'm your family." She smiled. "That's all you need to know."

"No, it's not that, Natasha." He sat up, shifting off her. He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his head. "It's just… what if I can't stop? What if… what if I have to keep moving? Keep fighting and if I stop I'll die?" He shook his head. "Mam always said I was a wanderin' soul, always gotta keep movin'."

"Steve, that mission was five months ago, why are you bringing it up now?" she asked. He flinched, his shoulders hunching up around his head. "You seem pretty fine to me right now." She reached for him, but he pulled away. "Steve? What's going on, why are you acting like this?" she asked, worried about him. "Is it your… is it your PTSD? I know a therapist that'll see you short notice, today even. It's going to be okay and—"

He shook his head. "No. No, it's not that. I— I should just call and cancel the reservations. This is a bad idea; the entire thing is a bad idea." He moved to leave, but she grabbed him by the wrist. "Nat."

"No," she said, "don't cancel. I've been looking forward to this dinner. Especially since you've kept it so secret. I want to know why. So, let's go." She pecked his lips. She smiled at him. He nodded, a smile quirking his lips. "There's the Steve Rogers, I know," she said.

"Marry me," he blurted out. "I was planning on doing this at dinner, but" — he stood up and went to his sock drawer, she watched (or rather stared at his perfect ass), as he dug through it and came back, a little black box cupped in his hand. — "gotta do this now, while I still think it's a good idea, before I lose my nerve." He dropped to one knee, holding up the little box and opened it. She gasped, staring at the ring. It was a single platinum band with a diamond solitaire. Nothing fancy, just simple and clean and elegant. She smiled, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes. "Natasha Romanoff, would you marry me?" He blinked, took a breath and added, "please."

She choked on a strange mixture of laughter and tears. She kissed him. "Yes," she said. "Yes, of course I'll marry you." She nuzzled him as he slipped the ring on her finger; never had she felt so loved or so at peace in her life.

* * *

She still couldn't stop looking at the ring on her finger. It glittered in the soft glow of the lights. The promise weight of a future with Steve felt comforting and alien on her finger. She sat there, admiring it as soft music flowed through the speakers, old Christmas songs and traditional carols. She sipped her wine, glancing at Steve. He looked like a fish out of water. His large frame was too big for the delicate chair and the fancy table, though he looked handsome in that navy tux, it did nothing to hide the kid from Brooklyn persona he draped over himself like a blanket. He stared at the menu. This place served a four-course meal, and she wondered if that'll be enough to fill him up or if they'll have to stop off at the greasy diner on their way home because he'll be hungry. "What's es-car-got?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Escargot," she said, "it's French. Snails in a butter and herb sauce." She liked escargot. His face twisted into a frown. "They kinda taste like clams. You like clams."

"I like clam chowder." He gave her a weak smile. "Haven't used French since the war."

"It's fine, nobody is gonna come to beat you with frog legs and snails because you can't speak French." She smiled when he gave a weak little laugh. "Ooh, they have some fancy meatballs."

"Meatballs?" he said and bowed his head to look at the menu. "I don't see them," he grumbled. "I keep finding the snails though."

"Tell you what, order the snails, I'll order the meatballs, we'll just swap."

"Okay," he said. He shifted, and the chair gave a squeak of protest. "This is a real fancy place."

She nodded, looking around at the restaurant with its scallop pink walls and beige carpet and eggshell white ceiling and chandeliers. The tables spaced far enough apart to give the air of privacy and the waiters walking around in striking black tuxedos with a stark white towel over their arm. A fountain of food and wine knowledge to help the guests who never been to such a high-end eatery navigate all the etiquette and ways of fine dining. Their waiter just happened to be an older gentleman and a righteous snob that instantly recognized that Steve was out of his depth and made little snide remarks about it.

Her poor boyfriend, flushed with embarrassment as he stammered through ordering their wine. She tried to intervene but both Steve and the waiter refused her. She found it hard to believe that Tony ate here. The waiter returned, she smiled at him, but he glowered at her. "You ready to order?" he asked, his tone clipped.

"Uh… yeah, yeah. Think we are," Steve said. "I'll uh… have the uh… escargot and my fiancée will have the uh—"

"Savory meatballs," she said, giving the waiter her most disarming smile, "if you don't mind."

"Of course," he said, voice tight as he took their menus and walked off. Steve relaxed and tugged at his bowtie. She tsked.

"What?"

"If you play with it, it'll be crooked and then I'll have to fix it. Your hands are good at many things, Steve, tying bowties is not one of them." She smiled, slipping her foot out of her shoe and trailing her toe up his leg. He arched a brow, the corner of his lip tugging up into a half smile. "Not that your hands need to be good at bowtie tying, at any rate."

"You like what my hands can do."

She hummed, taking his hand in hers. "That I do." She turned his hand over and kissed his palm, smiling at the bit of lipstick that remained behind. "That I do," she said and smirked at his flush. They went back to their menus and their waiter returned with their appetizers. She ordered a minestrone soup and he opted for a salad. For their main course, he got a dry-aged cut of Kobe beef with a baked potato and asparagus. She got duck breast with mushrooms and wild rice. Steve tried the snails (or attempted to), his hands too big and clumsy to maneuver the delicate fork and snail shell. His strength too much for such fine work. She worked the first snail out for him. He tried it but didn't like it and they swapped (she hadn't touched any of her meatballs). She was glad he liked the meatballs; she had better snails in France. The chef didn't know the first thing about preparing snails as they were tough and dry.

They ate the soup and salad (well Steve picked at his salad, he wasn't much for fancy vegetables). Then their main courses came. It was the first dish he actually enjoyed; the look of pure bliss on his face as he ate the steak was divine. "Never knew steak could taste so good," he muttered. She smiled, pleased that he was enjoying his food so much. "One thing I like about this century is the food's so much better," he said.

"Really?"

"Yeah." He ate some more, a little moan of delight escaping his mouth. She chuckled. "So good."

"Don't come on me from eating steak, I may start to worry." She winked, smiling around her fork as he blushed and almost choked. "Was the food really that bad?"

"Yeah," he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "We boiled everything. Mam would by a cheap cut of meat and boil it with cabbage and an onion, if we had it, and some potatoes. Didn't use a lot of salt 'cause it was expensive. Lemme tell you, I got sick of boiled beef real fast."

She smiled. "I don't have any fond memories about terrible food," she said, "it was a luxury I didn't think about it. Especially growing up in the Red Room." Where they poisoned us as a test to see which of us could detect poison and survive. "But I do remember being on missions as the eye candy for rich men. Ate a lot of good food during those missions, stuff like this," she said. "Is there anything you won't eat?"

He thought for a moment, fork still in his mouth. "No, not really. Growing up poor, you learn to not question food too much. If you had it, you ate it. I guess some of those weird tropical fruit. Like the durian. You?"

"Organ meat." She made a face. "Liver, kidney, sweetbreads, brains, tongue, eyes. Nope. Just won't do it." She shrugged. "Everything else I'll eat."

"Huh. Don't think I had any of that or if I did, I didn't really question it. Mam said it would help me grow so I ate it." He finished his plate. "Damn that was good."

She nodded, finishing up hers. "Now there's dessert," she said. "I heard they make sugar animals here."

"Sugar animals?" he asked.

"Yeah, animals made out of sugar," she said, leaning back and sipping her wine. "Always wanted to eat a sugar swan." She said, smiling a little at the idea. He didn't seemed thrilled about it. She learned early on with Steve that he wasn't a big fan of sweets, due in large part to never having the luxury of eating a lot of sweet things. A couple walked by their table, she glanced up and noted the woman's black backless dress and the man's charcoal suit.

"Hey," the man stopped, coming over to them. Steve gulped his wine, almost choking and spilling it all down his front. "You're Black Widow and Captain America!" the man said. She and Steve flushed. "Wonderful, wonderful! I'm Brett Jennings from KYXQ Channel 6 local news," he said and thrust his hand out. Steve, ever the polite one, shook the reporter's hand. "I know this is a bit spur of the moment, and I'm sorry if I'm ruining your dinner."

"Oh, no," she said, her voice dripping with venomous sarcasm, "you aren't." She rolled her eyes. "It's not like we're trying to have a nice private dinner or anything. We  _love_  it when reporters try to pry into our private life." She watched as Steve buried his face in his hands with a groan.

"Nat," Steve whined, shifting in his chair. Brett didn't pick up on it, instead he pulled a chair over from an unused table — ignoring his date — and sat down as he pulled a pencil and notepad from his pocket.

"Excellent!" he said. She frowned when his eyes found her ring. "So," he said, jumping right into his questions. Steve glanced around, she continued to glare at the report, but nobody stepped in to stop this. "How long have you two been dating? The internet is abuzz with that rather intimate kiss today outside the ice rink at Rockefeller Center."

She felt her jaw twitch. "They promised," Steve said, hurt and betrayal in his voice. "Those boys promised not to post it on the internet if they got our autographs."

"Ah-ha! So, you do admit to it. Now, do the rest of the Avengers know about your relationship? How come you haven't made it public? Is it because of the nature of being Avengers? Afraid the likes of Hydra or a terrorist group will come and hurt your girlfriend?"

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "I'd be more afraid for the terrorists or Hydra if they captured Nat, honestly." Steve couldn't help himself but quirk a smile. "My girl can handle herself."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," Brett said, scribbling. "So, Ms. Romanoff—"

" _Miss_  Romanoff," she hissed, getting annoyed with the oblivious reporter and that nobody on the waitstaff did anything to curtail this behavior. She was going to have a long and serious talk with Tony, who'll have a long and serious talk with the manager and owner of this place. "And no, I'd not worry about Steve's safety during missions, as you already deduced, he's Captain America."

Brett blanched. "I uh… was gonna ask you how long you've been engaged and when's the wedding, actually."

She glowered at the reporter, who whimpered like a whipped dog. "We never agreed to this, but you're too full of yourself to respect us and" — she found their waiter, who had that smug look on his face as if he was behind everything. She stood up with all the poise and grace of the dancer she is and marched over to him. — "you have no respect at all," she said, her voice even and firm. "If you had an announce of respect for me or my boyfriend you would have never allowed this to happen." She gave the man her signature smile, pleased when he paled. "I hope you weren't expecting a big fat tip." She looked over at Steve. "Let's go."

"Uh, right," Steve said, trying not to gloat a little. He stood up, scooped up her clutch while he gave the report an apologetic smile. He put his hand on the small of her back and lead her to the front, where they paid and collected their coats before they left.

* * *

They didn't head back to Brooklyn to their apartment to decorate the tree. No, because they got a call a few minutes into the drive from Tony telling them to get their asses to Avengers Tower  _now_. Steve had one of his confused frowns, and by that look along, she wasn't sure if Tony was angry at them or trying to hide his amusement. So, they drove to the tower and now were riding the elevator up to the penthouse where Pepper and Tony lived. Steve picked at a thread on his jacket. "I'll find some place that makes sugar swans and uh… get you one."

"Thanks," she said. He nodded, and elevator music filled the awkward void. "I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "I didn't mean to—"

"Nah, it's uh… okay," he said, and the elevator dinged at the top floor. They came out. Tony was in a ratty old t-shirt and jeans, glass of scotch in hand, Pepper was busy on a tablet in a faded white blouse and jeans, her feet resting on Tony's lap.

"And the lovebirds have arrived," Tony said, saluting them with his glass. "And what a stir you too made." He mimed throwing a ball, and a holographic screen popped up replaying a clip of the scene at the restaurant, in the lower corner was the picture of them kissing earlier that day. "When Pepper came into my lab earlier, I was afraid I did something wrong, so it was a nice relief to find out that nope, it's you two she's pissed at." He took a sip of his drink. "Right Pep?" he squeezed her foot. Pepper glared at him.

"Do you realize what a PR nightmare, you two caused?" she asked, fixing them with a withering glower. "Ever since that video from the restaurant went online it's gone viral. I'm having news agencies from all over the country and the world calling me, trying to get an official statement. Entertainment Weekly and People magazine are clamoring to do interviews and wedding issues. People wanting to know what happened, how long have you two been together, when will there be an official announcement. When did you two get engaged and for how long?" she ran her hand through her hair, looking haggard and breathless. "Like I said, PR disaster."

"Internet is saying this is bigger than the royal wedding back in 2011," Tony said. "You two made a big stir." He grinned. "#ColdWar is all the rage on twitter."

"#ColdWar? Tony, what does that even mean?" Steve asked, confused. She rolled her eyes. Pepper was right, this  _is_  a disaster.

"I knew I should've mugged that kid for his phone," Natasha grumbled. Tony snorted into his drink, Steve looked aghast, chiding her.

"It would've been less of a PR nightmare if you did," Pepper grumbled. She rubbed her face and declined a call from one of the many people crying for her attention. "Alright, why don't you two shower and change into something less formal and we'll discuss our options now that you two are out in the open."

"Make it sound like hunting season is upon," Steve grumbled.

Tony raised his glass, a shit-eater grin on his face. It was clear that he was enjoying the fact that the public's attention was — for once — not on him. Though she thought that Tony Stark thrived on the media attention his antics brought, but she guessed that even someone like Stark could use a break now and again. "That it is, my friends, that it is," he said. Steve shook his head, taking her hand and leading her back into the elevator. "And no sausage sinking, Cap! That can wait for the honeymoon!" Tony called after them. She shot Tony a murderous glare, pleased to see him flinch. The door closed and the elevator went down a few floors before they opened again. They had an entire floor to themselves ever since they started dating. It was a silent walk down the hall to their room.

The suite they had was large and spacious, with big bay windows that over looked the scintillating city. A double king size bed sat against one wall, the sheets crisp and neat, the pillows fluffed and place in a pleasing manner. She went over and sat on the bed watching Steve take his tuxedo jacket off. They didn't speak for several long tense moments. He loosened the bowtie as he opened the drawer, grabbing a faded SSR t-shirt and a pair of sweats. He gave her a look before going into the bathroom. The door closed, she heard the water running.

With a sigh, she got up and began to undress, slipping into a pair of well-worn yoga pants a camisole (with a built-in bra), and a light jacket. She undid her hair and ran her fingers through it, pausing every now and then to stare at her engagement ring and to untangle it from her hair. She put away her dress and Steve's tux knowing JARVIS will make sure it got to the dry cleaners. She pulled on some thick fuzzy wool socks and waited for Steve. He came out a few minutes later with his damp and dressed. "Think you may need a new shirt, that one looks like it's about to split at the seams."

His shoulders slump and he sat next to her. Sighing, he pulled her into a hug and mussed her hair with his nose. "What are we gonna do, Nat?" he asked. "Even when I was selling war bonds, I didn't like my face plastered all over everywhere. Now… now; how could I be so stupid as to trust those kids."

"It'll be okay, we'll get through this. We always do." She tilted her head up and pecked his lips. "And it was bound to come out sooner or later, just sucks that it happened like this." She leaned against his broad chest, feeling safe in his arms. This was her favorite place to be, wrapped up in his arms. She remembered how he shielded her from the missile strike when they exposed Shield as Hydra. She figured it was then that she admitted to herself that she loved him. "I love you," she said, kissing his throat. "I just want—"

"I'm sorry to interrupt Captain Rogers, Miss Romanoff, but Ms. Potts is insisting you return," JARVIS said. She sighed, pressing her nose into Steve's chest. She didn't want to go back and deal with everything.

Steve pulled away from her with a groan. "C'mon," he said, "this'll be like selling war bonds, minus the bullets and dead Nazis." He smiled. "Probably have to let them take a few pictures of us together, do a few interviews. Nothing to it. Bing bang boom."

She laughed, shaking her head. "You are optimistic, watch, it's not going to be like that." She stood up, taking his hand. "I bet you one magazine wants to tail us as we plan our wedding."

"The wedding… we haven't even discussed when we wanted to get married," he said. "We haven't discussed anything beyond—"

"Getting engaged? Yeah," she said, "I know." She squeezed his hand in encouragement as they headed out of their suite and back to the elevator. She pressed the button, waiting for it to come. "We'll get through this Steve."

"This is not gonna be like selling war bonds. This'll be more like preforming for the troops," he said. "Got a tomato thrown at me. And someone asked me to sign their uh… buttocks."

"Did they really?" she asked, arching a brow. The elevator doors open and they stepped inside. "Why?"

"I uh… asked for a volunteer. They weren't happy about it. I mean, I can understand, they liked the girls, didn't want see a guy in tights." He made a face. "I had everything I wanted but I was wearing tights."

"And now?" she asked, looking at him. He smiled, cupping her cheek. "Do you have everything you want now?"

"Well, I'm not wearing tights," he said. She smirked, standing on her tiptoes to peck his nose.

"I'm sure Howard Stark kept your original uniform, sure Tony can find it and let you wear it. Then you'll have your tights back" — she cupped his groin — "probably won't do this justice" — she gave him a gentle squeeze, enjoying how he shuddered with a groan — "not that I want everyone to see this."

"Natasha…" he whispered. The elevator dinged, she pulled away and the doors glided open with a soft mechanical clatter. She walked out first, Steve stumbling behind her as he adjusted himself. Tony and Pepper both arched their brows. She sat on the loveseat near the couch, Steve beside her. Pepper took a deep breath.

"Okay," she said, "People Magazine is offering the Maria Stark Children's Hospital and attaching charity half a billion dollars to cover your wedding."

Her eyes widened and Steve choked on his spit. "H-Half a billion?" he forced out, rubbing his throat. "That's… that's…"

"That'll provide so much care for those kids," Pepper said. "Probably for a year or two." She couldn't help but smiled. "They're on hold right now, I told them I'll discuss it with you."

"I was going to say it's a lot of money," Steve muttered and glanced at her. She looked at Pepper who had her business face on. "Nat?"

"What does all this entail?" she asked. Pepper brought up a screen, flicking through it at a quick pace. She frowned and glanced at Steve who looked terrified at the intimacy these people were asking for. The privacy they were giving up.

"They… they—"

"From now until you two slip on your rings and say I do, you will be tailed by a mobile camera crew. Every step of the wedding process, every dress Natasha tries on, ever tuxedo you look at. Caterer, wedding planner, napkin folder, the sugar animal maker, the wedding cake, where you want to get married, if it's gonna be religious or not, the works… will be documented and released to the public, including monetary amounts."

Steve gave a low whistle and she felt her gut twist. Even when she dumped all of Shield-Hydra's data onto the internet, she didn't expose herself  _this_  much. "Will they be asking what the first position will be when we consummate the marriage?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light and jovial. She blanched when Pepper nodded. "Der'mo."

"Everything, Natasha. And I mean,  _everything_ ," Pepper said. "It'll be on every social media feed, every entertainment news station, local and national news, and the magazine. Live and constant updates of your soon-to-be heroic husband and wife duo." Pepper sighed. "You'll be appearing on tv shows, doing live stream interviews. They'll pick apart your relationship with a fine-tooth comb." Pepper gave them a sympathetic look. "Steve, they'll ask about your relationships with Peggy and Sharon" — she saved her saddest look for Natasha — "Nat… they'll bring up every man you ever slept with."

"Most of them were missions," she said, feeling small and weak. She could hear Rumlow's taunting voice as he told Steve that she was little more than the office whore. She shuddered. That was two years ago, yet his words still stung. "I didn't care about any of them. The easier way to get close to a mark was to seduce them. I… all of them?" She bit her lip when Pepper nodded. She glanced at Steve, who had a serious look on his face.

"It's a gossip rag," Tony said, sounding a bit angry. "And gossip rags like scandal, so they're gonna try and find something."

"I don't care about who she slept with in the past," Steve said, "she's with me now. That's all that matters to me. She loves me." He pulled her close, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. "It's okay doll, we can elope."

"That'll cause an even bigger PR nightmare," Pepper said, "so please, don't do that." She rubbed her temples. "I'm sorry Natasha, but Tony's right, these people are gonna try and find a scandal."

She nodded, looking at her knees as she leaned more and more into Steve's side. "I know," she said. Her past had always been a contentious issue for her, but the fact that she slept with countless men (and some women) had never given her pause. It had always been the people she killed that made her stop. Now… now they were going to try to use her sexual exploits from her past to do what: Convince Steve not to marry her?

"My suggestion to both of you is to get married soon," Pepper said. She frowned at that, she was hoping for a few months to plan a wedding, work out any kinks she and Steve may have, figure things out and let the fact they are taking this step settle before the actual nuptials.

"People love a Christmas wedding," Tony chimed, "it's only a few weeks away. I'll foot the bill for the wedding planning crap, Pepper can organize it, and all you two have to do is play along and do the interviews. Everything can be done here in-house, so you won't have cameras shoved into your face all day."

"No," she said, standing up and going to the large bay windows. "I don't want a Christmas wedding."

"What? Nat," Steve protested, following her. She stared at the city, it's bright lights and traffic, the cars and people like ants. Did they know? Did they care about anyone other than themselves? The politicians say they had to care about everyone, but did the average person really care about everyone or just those they considered to be precious and their own? It had started to snow, the snowflakes big and fat drifted down in lazy zigzags, their path determined by the wind. He came to her side, pulling her close and keeping his voice soft. "Nat, I know this isn't the wedding or engagement either of us had planned but… the cat's outta the bag," he said, rubbing her arms. She refused to look at him, staring at the city, her lips pursed into a tight line. "Nat?"

She continued to watch the snow, thinking about her past, about what Rumlow had told Steve in the tree lot two years ago. It made her skin crawl and shame wash over her. It was almost as bad as the shame she felt about her infertility. No, that's more regret, she decided. She pulled away from Steve, trying to put some distance between them. "I don't want a Christmas wedding."

He stepped closer to her, taking her hand. He never did take hints well. "Okay, but why?" he asked. "It's the closest date, they'll have a few weeks to do their interviews. It's a win-win for everyone." He pulled her into his arm. "You heard Pepper. If we elope we'll have a bigger PR disaster on our hands. At least this one is manageable and the money is going to charity."

"I just don't." She pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself. This was too much, too fast. Her life as a spy was one thing, who she killed, what she did, how she affected the geopolitical climate… and having the public know? That was something she can handle, something she can slough off and put on a new mask. But the people she slept with: her marks, Alexi, James, and Kyle (she thanked God, she and Clint never got beyond anything than a few awkward kisses). Those made her feel dirty and whorish, and someone undeserving of Steve's love, let alone the ability to call to herself his wife.

"Natasha," he sighed. "You gotta tell me." She glanced at him, upset with herself even more at his hurt and confused expression. He was trying to be supportive and comforting, everything a good boyfriend should be doing. Yet it just made her more upset, more frustrated. She tried to find her center, that calm black void where no emotions bothered her, but she couldn't.

She huffed. "Fine. My birthday is Christmas. I don't want to have my birthday and my anniversary on the same bloody day." She held him in place with a glare. "And I'm starting to think that maybe I don't want to get married, that I don't want any of this, if I have to jump through these hoops and let strangers pry into my personal life and post it for the world to see."

"How is that any different from dumping all of Shield's files onto the internet?" Steve asked, his tone heated. "Because everyone knows everything about me now, too."

"Oh, grow up Rogers," she snapped, "everyone knew everything about you already, you have a damn exhibit in the Smithsonian!" She waved her hand at the window. "Your entire history is plastered in a museum!"

"That doesn't mean I want it up there, but I'm a national symbol. I'm like a living Statue of Liberty."

"If only we were so damn lucky," she seethed, her tone cold and icy. "Maybe this shows us that we aren't meant to be together, to be married. Better end this now before we're twenty years in and have a dog." She watched the fight leave him. He bowed his head, looking like a whipped puppy. She took a step back when he reached for her, shot Tony and Pepper a withering scowl and left the room.

* * *

She went down to the gym, taking her frustration and anger out of the training dummies. It felt good; the burn in her muscles and her labored breathing. As her anger faded, sorrow and regret took its place, which only caused her to become upset again because none of this should be happening. What hurt the most is she took her anger out on Steve. Steve, who had been nothing but loyal and kind and supportive and loving. Steve, who had just wanted to comfort her and shield her from her hurts because that's what men did. It was no reflection on her physical capability to protect herself, he knew she could hold her own in a fight, but he was raised to protect women and he was going to do that. Even if it meant protecting her from herself.

She stopped, putting one hand on the battered dummy. She knew she hurt him, especially when she said she was reconsidering marriage. He was already unsure about marriage himself and he didn't need to hear her doubts. She sighed and looked up when the door to the gym opened. Steve came in, walking towards her and looking glum. "Hey," he said.

"Hey."

He scuffed his toe against the mat. "Talked to Tony and Pepper after you left." She nodded. He gave a sigh, puffing out his cheeks. "Told Pepper we'd only agree if they kept questions related to us and the wedding and not dig into our past romantic history. She said it would be a tough sell, but if People Magazine really wants to do this, they'll swallow it and agree." He hung his head. "May drop the price tag a bit though, but that's okay in my book. Any amount going to the Maria Stark Children's Hospital is good." He gave her a small smile.

"Thanks," she said, returning the smile. She didn't like the distance she forced between them. Letting out a long breath, she stepped away from the dummy and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'm sorry I yelled at you," she said, shivering when he ran his large hand up and down her back. "I didn't… I… I want to get married to you, Steve. I just…"

"Nat," he whispered, tilting her head up so she could look him in the eye. "It's okay, I understand." She frowned. "What? I do."

"No, you don't," she said, pulling away and hugging herself. "Remember when Rumlow found us in the tree lot year before last?"

"Yeah, he said some stuff about you and I didn't like it," he said, "made him apologize." She smiled at that, at how Steve had come to her rescue and made Rumlow eat his words. "I don't see what he has to do with this? The guy's probably dead."

"It's not him… it's… I don't want you to see me as a whore." She hung her head, rubbing her arm. "I have red in my ledger still, but… I can deal with that, I'm making amends for it. But… I used sex as a weapon. Every mark I slept with, only to get close and kill them. How could you want me? How could you want to have wife like that?"

He pulled her into a hug. "One of Christ's most loyal disciples was a whore; her name was Mary Magdalen. He forgave her and she followed him." He nuzzled her cheek. "If Christ can forgive her, then I can forgive you. I already have, Nat. Like I said to Tony and Pepper, I don't care. I love you, and you love me. I don't care that you had a husband in Russia, that you and Bucky were lovers for a brief time, that you and Clint shared—"

"Weird, awkward kisses," she said, a little laugh escaping her. He nodded.

"And I don't care about you and Kyle." He kissed her forehead. "All that matters is you and me, the here and now. I love you, I forgave you your sins a long time ago, because I saw the good person underneath all the blood and heartache. And I fell in love with her," he said and gave he a dopey grin. She shook her head, pressing herself closer to his broad chest. She felt safe in his arms; safe and loved and wanted.

"Thanks," she said, "I needed to hear that and I'm sorry I snapped at you. You were just trying to comfort me."

"I understand," he said, giving her a little smile. "To be honest, I'm still not sure if I want to get married either. I just feel like I can't turn myself off. That I have to keep fighting." He stroked her hair. "But you make me wanna try at the very least." She kissed him, a brief chaste kiss. "So, is your birthday really Christmas?"

"Yep," she said, pulling away and taking his hand, "it really is." She grinned, shaking his hand. "What not gonna say anything?"

"I just… I can't believe… I never got you a present," he said, flabbergasted. "I'm terrible and—"

"Don't beat yourself up, Steve. Clint's the only one that knows and every Christmas I spent with you in some way, so they were all special. Especially last year, that was my favorite birthday so far."

"Oh?"

"You told me you loved me," she said. He grinned, and she kissed him, enjoying the feel of his lips against hers. He pulled her close. "C'mon, let's get some sleep. Pepper has to negotiate our terms now, so I'm not expecting an answer until tomorrow." She headed towards the door, leading him by the hand. "Once this is all done, we can go home and decorate our poor naked Christmas tree."

"Damn, I forgot about our tree," he said with a chuckle. "Also, I told Tony and Pepper a Christmas Eve wedding would be better."

"Still close to my birthday," she grumbled, giving him a mock glare, "but not  _on_  my birthday. So, I guess that'll do." The elevator opened, and they stepped inside. She wiggled into his embrace as he told JARVIS to send the elevator to their floor. The silence pressed in around them, the LED lights soft and white, bathing them in a glow that was almost ethereal. "So," she said, breaking the silence. "This is really happening."

"Yeah."

"We're really doing it." She looked at him, watching him stare unblinkingly ahead. She rubbed her body against his to snap him out of his thoughts. He looked down at her, a tiny smile on his face.

"Yeah, we really are."

"I can't… it almost doesn't feel real."

"No, it doesn't." The soft hum of the elevator rushed in to fill the silence. She leaned against him again, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you too." He pressed a kiss to her head, and she smiled. Sometimes their height difference annoyed her but most of the time, she enjoyed it. The elevator sighed to a stop at their floor. They got out and went to their room, where she showered and met him in bed. She feared she wasn't gonna fall asleep right away, but the events of the day caught up with her and she found herself drifting off to sleep as soon as Steve tucked her against his broad frame.

* * *

Things began to pick up the following days. They did get to go home and decorate their tree, but had to return to Avengers Tower for interviews, dress fittings, menu selection, what color she wanted napkins and table clothes. She was glad Tony was footing the bill for the wedding since she felt like it was going overboard. She and Steve liked to keep things simple, and it just felt too much at times. They argued once about what type of service it should be; he had wanted a non-domination service, but she insisted on it being Catholic. It wasn't much of a fight, but he ceded to her whims in the end and went to talk to the local bishop about marrying her.

With the Church's permission receive and the head priest at the church they selected onboard (the man was tickled pick that Captain America wanted to have his wedding at his church), the team of wedding planners Pepper had hired swooped down upon the church, discussing how best to decorate it for a Christmas Eve wedding. In order to not disrupt Midnight Mass, she and Steve both agreed on a late afternoon wedding. The church goers even helped decorate the church with the planners, they too, excited that Captain America and Black Widow would be marrying at their church.

The guest list was sent out to only their friends and family, and Happy Hogan had taken his job as head of security with stalwart seriousness, making sure nobody that wasn't invited came. People Magazine felt burned by this, but it was part of the deal they had struck in order to cover this story exclusively. And part of that deal meant doing interviews. She didn't mind the interviews so much, but Steve never had much love for the limelight, so she manipulated the conversation in order to spare him the attention and shorten the entire thing. She hoped he was okay with everything and after their last interview, he told her he was meeting Sam and Tony at the airport, to head down to DC.

It took her a moment to realize he was going to tell Peggy about this. She tried not to feel miffed, even though she understood the old woman's importance to him. Instead, she kissed his cheek and told him to have a good visit and went back to the tower. The dressmaker and Pepper were waiting for her and she was once again poked and prodded and measured. The dressmaker was giddy with excitement at the idea of creating Black Widow's wedding dress (Steve was spared this as he was going to wear his Army dress blues). Looking at her wedding dress in the mirror: off the shoulders with white faux fur and dangly puffballs and silvery lace over a beaded bodice, the skirt multi-layered and flared out like a bell, the lace on the hem spiking up at intervals to create a snowflake effect. Pepper lowered her veil, and a crown of holly berries, evergreen boughs and white flowers adorn her head. She looked at herself in the mirror, unable to believe this was real or happening. "He's going to be amazed when he sees you," Pepper told her.

"He already is," she whispered, "but this'll make him speechless." She couldn't wait the last remaining days until her wedding. The night of the twenty-third came faster than either of them had expected. Tony, Clint, and Sam whisked Steve (and an unwillingly Bruce) off for a bachelor day, while she was stuck with Pepper, Laura and Betty getting mani-pedis, facials and full body massages. She wouldn't see Steve until tomorrow afternoon when she walked down the aisle. Despite this, she felt at ease, calm and relaxed. She was marrying for love this time, not because the Red Room and KGB told her too. She was building a future with a man she adored and who adored her in turn. It was everything she ever dreamed of when it came to her wedding; the small little girl from the poor end of Volgograd finally having a wish come true. If she could go back in time and tell her younger self that this moment would happen, that all the pain and suffering she would endure would lead to this moment, she would.

She stood in the foray of the church on the afternoon of December 24th, 2015 and her nerves finally hit her. She paced around in circles, her veil fluttering behind her as she tried to find her center. Betty was standing in a corner, holding the bouquet of snow white lilies in her hand. "It's going to be okay, Natasha," Betty said in a calm soothing voice. "You love him, and he loves you."

"I know but… I'm getting  _married_ ," she said, looking at Betty. The other woman wore a form fitting silver dress, with a dark red ribbon tied around her waist. She liked the bridesmaid dresses Pepper had picked out. She groaned, pacing. "I feel like I'm going throw up." She pressed a hand to her stomach; she had been unable to eat all day, too nervous to think about food.

"Are you pregnant? Is it morning sickness?" Betty asked. She shook her head. Another knock on the door sounded and a second later Pepper slipped in. She wore a dress identical to Betty's, but her ribbon was gold instead of red. "She feels like she's going to throw up."

"It's okay, Tasha," Pepper said, putting her hands on her shoulders. She looked at Pepper, feeling herself shake. "Everything's ready, you love Steve, he loves you. You'll have a long and happy life together." Pepper grinned. "He's up there at the altar, so handsome and so nervous."

"I don't think I can do this," she whispered, feeling tears well up in her eyes. Pepper shushed her. "What if he changes his mind or… or… or…"

"Relax," Pepper said. "He won't. This is Steve Rogers we're talking about. Stubborn as a mule. He wants this, he wants to be your husband. You got this."

She nodded. "I got this," she said, giving Pepper a smile, she smiled at Betty too. The door opened again, and Clint came in, dressed in a tux. "Hey," she said. Clint swallowed, looking her up and down.

"Wow, Nat… you look… you look stunning," he said. "We're all ready. Betty, Pepper, go on ahead, I'll bring Nat out once the music starts."

"Right," Pepper said and tugged Betty along. Betty handed her the lilies and she stared at the flowers. Clint took her hands and she looked at him, feeling lost and nervous and scared. He smiled at her.

"Jesus, Nat, I… I'm happy for you," he said, his voice soft. "That day I rescued you… I never thought I'd get to see you grow so much. You went from a cold heartless assassin to someone with so much warmth and love in their heart. A good person that wants to help people. And you found love. I never thought I'd get to see this day. I'm so happy for you, Natasha."

"Clint…" she licked her lips bowing her head. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome," he said and pressed a kiss to her forehead before lowering her veil. "Ready?"

"Yes," she said, slipping her arm into his as they faced the door. The organ began to play the Bridal March as the doors swung open. She spared Clint one glance and they walked down the aisle. The church was decorated with boughs of evergreen and holly, big gold ribbons and poinsettias. The church's organ played deep and solemn as she walked towards the altar where Steve was waiting in his Army dress blues. She never seen him look so handsome before. Pepper and Betty stood waiting for her, while at Steve's side stood Sam and Tony.

The music stopped when they reached the altar and Clint placed her hand in Steve's. "Take good care of her," Clint said, "she's a special one."

"I… I will," Steve mumbled, his blue eyes wet with emotion. She felt his hand tighten around her fingers. Clint kissed her cheek before going to sit next to Laura and his kids. She looked at Steve, smiling. "You… you're beautiful," he said.

"Not half bad yourself, soldier," she said, smiling. He nodded, and they turned to face the priest. She didn't listen to most of what the priest said, much of it religious and invoking God and the holiness of the marriage. She heard Steve gasp, and sigh at many points and she looked over at him. Tears of joy leaking from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks, she felt the same way, but she had mastered the physical response to her emotions long ago; she squeezed his hand, smiling at him when he looked at her. It felt like forever before the final part came, the vows.

"Do you, Steven Grant Rogers, take Natasha Romanoff to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part?" the priest asked. The church fell silent, all eyes on Steve, all holding their breath.

"I…" he swallowed, wiping at his eyes. "I…" he tried again but was too overcome with joy to get the words out so he nodded instead, a large smile on his face. Sam handed him the ring and, with a shaking hand he slipped the delicate band of metal onto her finger. She looked at it, smiling at how it sparkled next to her engagement ring. The priest gave a soft chuckle before fixing his kind warm eyes on her.

"Do you, Natasha Romanoff, take Steven Grant Rogers to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part?" the priest asked. She looked at Steve and smiled. This was it. Once she gave her answer it was over. Pepper handed her the ring.

"I do," she said, slipping the ring onto Steve's hand. Her eyes stung with tears and her cheeks hurt from smiling. Steve's lip trembled, and he jabbed his teeth into it to keep from crying.

"By the power vested in me from God, Our Creator, and the State of New York, I now pronounce you man and wife," the priest said and gave Steve a knowing smile, "you may now kiss the bride."

She grinned when Steve lifted her veil, anticipation making her nervous. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph," he whispered, and she giggled. He cupped her cheek and kissed her. They kissed before, but none had been like this. This kiss felt new and different, familiar but alien. It was their first kiss as husband and wife; she never felt happier or more complete. The applause from their friends was a dull murmur at the edge of her hearing. They pulled apart and the choir began to sing as she looped her arm through Steve's. They walked down the aisle, smiling at everyone. Tony had a limo waiting for them to take them back to the Tower where the party was being held.

They were almost to the large oak doors when Fury stepped in front of them, Hill behind him. "Congratulations, Captain, Agent," he said. She smiled at Steve and looked at her mentor. "Never seen a more beautiful ceremony. I wish you both love and happiness."

"Thank you, sir," Steve said, his voice was stronger though there was still that slight tremor of emotion in it. "Glad you could come."

"Yes, thank you," she said.

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," Fury said. "Speaking of which, my gift to you two is not really a gift." He and Hill stepped aside to reveal the last person, she ever expected at her wedding (or any place in general).

Dressed in a charcoal suit, his long hair pulled into a tail at his nape was Bucky Barnes. His blue eyes clear and she could tell he was in possession of his mind. She shot a look at Fury, arching her brow and wondering how long Fury had known about Barnes and just how exactly this entire thing happened.

"Bucky?" Steve forced out, his hand squeezing her fingers so tight she feared she may have a few broken bones. "Bucky, is… is… is it really you?" Steve asked, his tears starting anew. She swallowed, hoping that this was real. She didn't want to see Steve's hopes dashed again, especially on today of all days.

"Yeah, punk," Bucky said, his voice soft and thick with emotion. "It's me." Steve hugged him, sobbing into his shoulder. "What? Did you really think I'd miss you tying the knot?" he asked, Steve just cried harder. It was a few moments before he pulled away and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

"Merry Christmas," Fury said, "and once again, congratulations." He turned and left. Hill congratulated them as well before following her boss out of the church. Natasha looked at Steve, smiling at him and then at Bucky, who stood (a bit awkward) to the side with a happy smile on his face.

"We better get to the car," she whispered, and Steve jerked out of his dazed state and nodded. He hugged Bucky again, promising to talk to him more once they got to the party and lead her out to the car. Everyone was waiting at the steps. She looked at Steve and grinned. Their friends cheered, throwing rice at them as they trotted to the car, where Happy held the door open for them. She grinned and tossed her bouquet, gathered her skirts and wedged herself into the car, Steve beside her.

"I can't believe it," he said, "getting married, Bucky's back… I…"

"Best day of your life?" she asked, grinning and wiping her eyes. The car began to move, pulling into traffic.

"Yeah." He swallowed and kissed her again, with a bit more passion that he had at the altar. "Merry Christmas and Happy day before your birthday, Mrs. Rogers."

She laughed, smiling against his lips. "Merry Christmas, Captain Rogers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MCU (c) Marvel Studios
> 
> Kyle is an OC, I figured Nat would have tried dating post Red Room. He's the guy she dated. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. 
> 
> Save an author; leave a review


	5. The Fifth Christmas - 2016

It was silent, save for the sound of their feet hitting the pavement, the swish-swish of their nylon jogging outfits and the pants of their breathing; white puffs before their faces. Dawn was breaking in the east, illuminating the picture-perfect houses in their neat little rows. Big houses, small houses, some with the pagoda style roofs indicative of East Asia, others stalwart and Victorian in their haughty air, others chic and modern reflecting a stereotypical view of American suburban life. Cars parked out in the driveways, SUVs and trucks. Sometimes they saw people going to work, in the distance the school bus rumbled as it picked up children for school. Sometimes a dog would bark as they passed but they didn't mind.

He glanced over at Natasha, who was keeping pace with him. He didn't know when she started joining him on his morning runs, probably when they started living together he thinks, but it felt as if they had always done it. Granted, he matched pace with her, not wanting to leave her behind; but they still ran a few miles every morning. It was nice running through their new neighbourhood, it helped both of them memorize the streets and how to get back to their little cul-de-sac. And now, since it was December, their neighbourhood took on a festive feel.

They rounded the corner, their house appearing at the apex of the cul-de-sac. It was also the only house not decorated for Christmas. He looked down at his wife (he still got a little thrill when calling Nat that) when she nudged him. "Yeah?" he gasped out.

"Race ya home?" she asked, the competitive glint in her eyes. He smirked. "Unless you're too tired. I mean, you  _are_  an old man." She smirked, it was the same smirk he fell in love with and it still set of flutters in his stomach.

"I'm an old man, huh?" he asked, he glanced around to make sure nobody would be out and catch a glimpse of them. While Natasha could run faster than normal, he could do a mile in a minute flat (if he pushed himself). Nobody was out, nobody peeking through the windows; it was safe for him to let his strength go and show off a bit (plus he's pretty sure Natasha gets a thrill at how truly strong and fast her is). "Can an old man do this?" he asked, and his speed picked up his pace, tearing off ahead of her.

"Hey, that's not fair Rogers!" she shouted, picking up speed, but they both knew she would never catch him. He laughed, his feet pounding the pavement as their house grew large and large with each step. His heart hammered in his chest and his lungs took in great gulps of the icy December air. His cheeks flushed and his eyes bright, he felt light and happy and he reached their house first (as he knew he would). He waited for Natasha, arms over his head as he paced in their front yard. She ran up to him, gasping and her face flushed and hair messy, a few strands sticking to her face. "Cheat." She grinned though and walked up to him.

"I win," he said, cocking his head to the side. He pulled her close, his hands on her hips as her arms slipped around his neck. She leaned against him, forcing him to support most of her weight. He kissed her. "Wanna take a shower?" he husked, hands running up her sides. He loved her running outfit, it almost showed off her curves better than her Black Widow catsuit. "Then I'll make bacon and pancakes. And we can get started on unpacking some of the boxes we haven't gotten to and—"

"Hi!" a woman drawled in that high-pitched annoying way that nosey people tended to have. He and Natasha composed themselves, putting a bit of distance between them. He hoped the woman didn't see them run. He didn't need everyone knowing that Captain American and Black Widow lived here.

"Uh, hi," he said, giving the woman a smile. She wore a loud Christmas sweater and jeans, slippers on her feet. "Is there… something we can help you with?" he slipped an arm around Natasha's waist, pulling her close. They had yet to meet their neighbours and if he was honest that was fine with him. It was better if nobody knew them too well. "Nice day, huh?"

"Bit nippy, but whaddya expect, it's December!" the neighbour woman said, giving a loud forced laugh. He glanced at Natasha, a smile on his face. His wife flashed a small one but kept her face neutral for most of it. "So, you two must be used to running in this cold, huh?"

"Well, running warms you up, so we don't notice it after a bit," he said. He slipped his fingers beneath Natasha's track suit, feeling her warm skin. She cleared her throat and he backed off. "So—"

"Where are my manners, considering I haven't seen you two around before. Didja just move?" she asked. "I'm Ginger Valentini," she said. "I'm head of the PTA and I organize the neighbourhood functions and I'm chair on the Neighbourhood Christmas Block Festival." She offered her hand to him and he took it, shaking it.

"Steve and Natasha Rogers," he said, "I teach at West Point and my wife's in intelligence and security." He dropped the woman's hand and beamed at Natasha, unable to keep the pride from his face or gaze. Ginger laughed.

"Never would have guessed. She seems more apt to teach though," she said, "dainty and all that." She waved a dismissive hand at Natasha. He bristled, not liking the sugar-coated insult. Natasha gave Ginger her blithe disarming smile.

"Well," his wife said, "you know what they say: Great things come in small packages. And never judge a book by its cover."

Ginger nodded. "Of course, of course. Can't judge anything by their outward appearance. I had four kids, yet I can still fit into a size two dress." She winked at Steve. "My husband's happy about that. Though he's let himself go." She pursed her lips together. "Not like your husband, eh, Natty? Can I call you Natty?"

"Natasha, please," Natasha said, her voice clipped. "And I'm sure your husband isn't that bad looking, I mean you're still with him." Natasha shrugged. Ginger gave another high pitched fake laugh, slapping her thigh.

"She's a hoot, ain't she?" she beamed at him. "I mean, Henry is not ugly — Henry's my husband," she said. He and Natasha nodded. "But he's nothing like your husband." She looked him up and down. Steve swallowed, feeling a bit nervous. Natasha gave a little growl in the back of her throat.

"Yeah," she said, all smiles and good cheer. "He's something special." She looked up at him and he bent his head to give her a peck on the lips. "Is there something you need Ginger? I'm sure you don't want to keep your kids waiting."

"Oh," Ginger said, sounding surprised. "I just want to tell you that your house is a little lacking in Christmas cheer." She gave a little clap, her smile big and fake. "So, as soon as you can, why dontcha bust out those Christmas decorations! This year's theme is reindeer." She followed that up with a soft yay. He arched a brow, looking between the two women. "And on Christmas Eve will announce the best lit house." She preened, though tried to act modest. "I've won the last three years and I expect to hold onto my title." She winked at him, a hungry look in her eyes. He pulled Natasha closer to him. "Well, Happy Holidays. Hope to see your house decked out soon!" she waved at them and headed back to her house. They stood on their door step, watching Ginger enter her house. Natasha pulled away from him and went inside.

"Nat?" he called, going after her. He kicked the door close. "Nat, honey?" he kicked his shoes off and pressed the thermostat to get some heat in the house. He went into the kitchen and sure enough, he found his wife with a pair of binoculars and perched on the top of the back of the chair. "Nat?"

She looked at him, fury on her face and went back to spying on their neighbour. "I don't like her, Steve."

"I don't like her either." She didn't look away. He sighed and came up behind her, pushing away her sweaty ponytail to kiss her neck. "Steve."

"Nat, don't. We're normal here. Just a nice young couple in a nice neighbourhood. Nothing different or strange." He kissed her neck again. "We can still shower and make breakfast." She turned to look at him and his breath caught. He could never fathomed how he got to this point, got this beautiful and extraordinary woman to be his wife, but he thanked his lucky stars and God every day for the gift he was given.

"A nice long shower?" she asked, arching a brow. He smirked.

"A nice long hot shower, and we can even take our time getting dressed," he said, his voice soft and husky. He drew a line down the curve of her spine. "I'll even draw you like in that one movie. Like those French girls."

"You never drew a French girl," she said, sliding into the seat and into his arms. "At least not in that context." She kissed him, and he gave in, letting her hands wander over his chest and down his belly. He pulled away panting a little, his face flushed again.

"I wouldn't mind drawing you like that though." He smirked, tracing her jaw. He never thought he'd ever feel this happy, this peaceful. He always defended the American dream, but now he could taste it and hold it in his hands. He was still trying to figure out how to balance this new found domestic bliss with defending the world, with being an Avenger. It was a learning curve, but he was a quick learner. He would say he was sleeping better, less nightmares and he had more buoyant days. Bruce had said he had figured out how to manage his PTSD; having Natasha around to talk about his demons and in turn listen to her own blood-soaked past helped. "Naked and splayed out for me." He chuckled. "Don't think I'd finish though. Give up, cause, I'd be imagining my fingers on your perfect skin as I sketched."

"Why don't you take me upstairs and run your fingers over my perfect skin?" she said, her voice soft and each word coated with desire. He smirked, scooping her up. She laughed, and it was like the sound of angels to his ears. He kissed her and wondered how he'd ever tell her how much she meant to him or if she already knew.

* * *

They made love in the shower and on their bed. Touched and teased each other as they made breakfast and as they ate it too. The morning bled away as they went about unpacking and setting up the Christmas decorations. Their house was still too big and spacious, feeling empty and unlived in. Nat told him not to worry, that she'll go with the girls and look and some furniture later this week. Still, getting the Christmas village up and their other Christmas knickknacks and the Christmas lights chased away most of the drabbed unlived in feeling of their house.

He came back from the attic, ready for a fresh load of boxes. "Load 'em up," he said, grinning. She laughed and stacked some boxes in his arms. She picked up the last box, it was small and the label was in Russian. "What does it say?" he asked, never seeing this box before. She bit her lip, her thumbs running along the edges of the box. "Nat?"

"Nothing," she said and set the small box on top. "That should be it." She smiled. "Got it?"

"Uh-huh." He turned around and headed to the stairs. "We still going to dinner with Pepper and Tony?" he asked as he climbed the stairs. He glanced at the few pictures on the wall. A group photo of the Avengers. Their wedding picture, pictures from their road trip this past summer. He hoped to have this wall covered with pictures of their lives. "Nat?" he called.

"Yeah, yeah, we are," she said, her voice distant as he reached the top of the stairs.

He grunted his reply and climbed the hidden steps into the attic that he left down. He blinked a few times and then found a spot for them and set them down, nudging them closer to the other boxes with his foot. Curiosity got the better of him, glancing around to make sure Natasha wouldn't appear, he opened the small box with the Russian label. His eyes widened at the sight. A collection of baby things rested inside. Some cute little onesies with his shield emblem and her Window mark and the Avengers' A. Other onesies with zoo animals and fishes; baby shoes and baby socks for a boy or girl. A gel teething ring and a rattle. A soft lilac blanket with satin edges, a pink giraffe plush and a blue elephant plush. He dug through it and found a scrapbook for a baby' first five years of life, another blanket with lambs and ducklings and bit worn at the edges. A small box held two porcelain jars for first lock of cut hair and first lost tooth. He put everything back in the box and stared at it as if it was some enemy trap.

They never spoke about children. The only time anything related to children came up was when they first started sleeping together and he worried about STDs and unplanned pregnancies. Natasha had assured him she was clean and that she was unable to get pregnant (he had told her he didn't mind the inability to conceive, that she was perfect regardless). Since then, they never spoke of children or having them. He was okay with it, he had given up on children a long time ago, back before the ice. He didn't want to inflict his multitude of illnesses upon an innocent child, so when he was still small and skinny, he had resigned himself to the fact that children just weren't in his future. His thoughts had changed little since receiving the serum and waking up in the 21st Century and marrying Natasha. He figured that she was okay with being one of those childless couples. Seeing the box, knowing her desire, he wished he had said something sooner.

She was always excited to see Cooper and Lila. She was a great aunt, interactive and playful, spoiling them but not to the point they became rotten. She even encouraged Lila and Cooper to call him Uncle Steve. He just passed it off as her wanting to be a part of the lives of Clint's children, but he should've known better. She would look in the direction of a crying baby or child, watch pregnant women a bit longer than normal and sigh with melancholic wistfulness whenever they passed the baby section while shopping. "Steve?"

He jerked, turning around and standing in front of the boxes, hoping she didn't noticed that he looked through the box with her collected baby items. "Hey, just putting the boxes away." He smiled and walked towards her. The shadows and the light behind her made her expression difficult to read, but he hoped she bought his fib.

"You've always been a terrible liar," she said, a teasing note in her voice as she strolled passed him to the boxes. He swallowed, his fingers twitching to grab her, but he refrained. He heard her suck in a breath when she noticed the box containing the baby items had been opened. The attic felt cold all the sudden; he hung his head. "Did you open this?" her voice was soft, dangerous. He could hear the hurt in her tone. "Did you open this Steve?" she asked.

He felt wretched and his heart ached for her. "Nat, I—"

"Did you open this, yes or no?" she snapped, her cheeks flushed with anger that stemmed from betrayal. He nodded and flinched when she kicked some nearby boxes.

"Nat—"

"How could you?" she asked. "How could you open that and… and… betray my trust like that?" she glowered at him and he had never seen her so angry at him before. He felt horrible and wished he could turn back time and never look in the box.

"Natasha, please… I…" he stopped, taking a few steps towards her. "I didn't know what was in it and… I'm sorry I looked but" — he licked his lips — "why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Because it'll never happen," she said, taking a step away from him. The rejection hurt, and he failed at hiding it. "It'll never happen Steve. I told you when we started sleeping together, I can't get pregnant. That was two years ago." She looked away, eyes falling to the box. He watched her trace the edge almost as if she was lamenting the fact she could never have children. "You married a broken woman."

"Nat." He closed the gap between them and wrapped her in his arms. "You aren't broken." He kissed her head and scooped her up bridal style. "You aren't broken. You're perfect, just the way you are and I love you." He took her out of the attic, giving the string a tug, the gears creaked as it sprung back up into place. He looked down at his wife, her eyes shiny with unshed tears and guilt and sorrow coiled about his gut. He took her to their room, laying her on the bed and cuddled her. He listened to her cry into his chest smoothing her hair and murmuring sweet little words to her. She hiccupped, and her shoulders stilled. Sighing, he pulled her close, holding her tight, letting the realization of the deep-seated desire wash over him.

"It was a shrine," she whispered. "I would buy things I found, and thought were cute. Just little things and kept them in a box." She nuzzled his chest and he tightened his embraced. "Sometimes I would look at them and imagine my baby wearing the clothes and playing with the toys and" — she swallowed — "and I'd cry for the child that would never be born."

"Oh, Natasha," he whispered and pressed a kiss to her brow. "I'm sorry, I wish—" his phone rang, vibrating against the nightstand by his side of the bed. He frowned, rolling onto his back to answer it. "Hello?" he asked. He frowned. "Sharon? Yeah… hey, I'm doing good… yeah… uh-huh, thanks. I'm happy too… yeah, Nat's the best. So uh, why are you calling?" he asked, his brows furrowing and then he went limp as if all the fight had been taken out of him. "N-No… Of course, Sharon. I'll come. If that's what she wants. I'll come. I'll see her. She… she was with me at the end and… tell her I'll be there tomorrow. Thanks. You too, take care." He hung up.

God had a sick sense of humor, if God had a sense of humor. He sat up and pulled his hand down along his face. It hurt. Opening old wounds he thought had scabbed over and healed. He felt numb, like when he woke up still half frozen in the ice, disorientated and listening to people mutter about how best to harvest his organs and take samples of his DNA as if he was no better than a lab rat and then expressing surprise when they found out he was still alive. It wasn't fair that this happened to him, that this was his life. "Steve?" Natasha's voice pulled him out of his musing, his eyes wet. "Steve, what's wrong?"

"Peggy's not gonna last much longer. She wants t-to see me… one last time." He squeezed her hand. "Told Sharon, I'll be there tomorrow."

Natasha nodded and kissed his cheek. "I'll call Tony, ask to borrow his jet and pack us some bags." She stood up, grabbing her phone to go make the call. Once she was out of the room, he sat up and buried his face in his hands and cried for all that he lost.

* * *

Maybe it was cruel or maybe it was the living's way of helping the dying come to terms with the inevitable. Yet, the Christmas decorations with their warmth and good cheer and bright gay colors seemed ironic in an almost benign maliciousness. They clashed with the drab neutral beiges and greys of the nursing home; soft scents of pine and warm spices did nothing to conceal the scent of death, of dying. The machines around Peggy's bed beeped, constant and steady. So long as they beeped she was alive, and so long as she was alive he had time. He sat there, holding her frail gnarl hand. So different from what he remembered: strong supple fingers with the faintest hint of gunpowder that mingled with her perfume, creating an odd pleasant scent he enjoyed. Chocolate curls that cascaded around her heart shaped face. Those bright red lips that hypnotized him. Bold and feminine; she looked at him with curiosity and stirred something deep within him for the first time.

O, how far away those bygone days were when life was simpler, when the enemy was clear as the red armbands they wore on their uniforms. When disillusioned men went off into the mountains to rave and die, removed from the world. When he felt like he had his entire life stretched out before him, a woman who loved him and a best friend at his side. Peggy was no longer the woman he remembered, and he wondered if he was one of those disillusioned men that should wander off into the mountains to rave and die, and Bucky… he hadn't seen Bucky in seven months, not since his birthday in July. He brushed a lock of white hair from Peggy's brow. Her eyes sharp and bright, at least she was lucid. Weak as she was, she was still a stubborn woman and still had some fight left in her. At least he didn't have to explain to her that he was still alive. He didn't think he could bare it today. "You seemed troubled," she whispered, her thumb stroking his knuckles. "Talk to me."

"I'm losing you again. I'm losing you and… it feels like I just got you back," he said, squeezing her hand, mindful of her frail fingers and his strength. "We never got our dance, I was late, and we never got our dance."

"Steve," she said, reaching to cup his face with her other hand. He leaned towards her, closing his eyes at her touch. The machines continued to beep in the background, she was still alive even though he could see the life leaving her, bit by bit, bleeding away into the aether. He wanted to grab the wispy threads of her life and return it to her, just so he could have more time with her. "You knew this day would come, we all die." She patted his cheek. "We lose loved ones, we mourn and move on. It hurts but sometimes the only way forward is to start over."

"I know," he said and sat up straighter, holding both of her hands. "I know, it's just the unfairness—" he shook his head. "Sharon tell you I got married last Christmas?" he asked. Peggy nodded, and he couldn't help but smile. "Natasha's a swell girl, I love her" — he allowed himself to smile — "she makes me happy Peggy, real happy. I feel… at home with her."

Peggy sighed, closing her eyes. The machines continued to beep, continued to monitor what little life she had left. "I'm glad Steve," she said, her voice reedy and tired, "I'm happy you're finally getting to live your life."

He snorted, a bitter wry smile on his face. "Still don't know what the right thing is, still don't know if I can be a good husband and settle down, build a family with Natasha." He let go of her hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Nat and I… I don't think we can do it with both of us being Avengers."

She hummed. "You'll figure it out," she said, "things like this… they have a way of working themselves out. Give it time, don't force it."

"She wants children, Peggy," he said, "we never even discussed children. I always thought it was a moot point considering she's… she can't have children because of what the Red Room did to her."

Peggy was silent for several long moments. "The Red Room is a horrible place. Turned perfectly good girls into monsters and killed the ones that weren't willing to become monsters in order to survive." Peggy glared at nothing. "We had a tough time dealing with them during the Cold War." She shook her head. "You'd make a good father; you're a good man. Good men make good fathers." She patted his hand. "Only if it's something you want."

The last statement froze him. He furrowed his brow, a frown creasing his lips. Did he want children? He was healthy, Dr. Erskine said that the serum affected all his cells, so it was possible that it affected his sperm too… right? If so, his child would never face all illnesses he endured as a child. He sighed, shoulders shuddering as he let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. It didn't seem right to be talking about having children with his dying former flame. "I gave up on having children, long before Project: Rebirth. Women looked at me like a bug they could step on, so why would any of them want children with me. Plus, why would I want to subject a child to all my illnesses." He gave a derisive snort. "Never thought I'd find a girl and settle down so, I was okay with it."

"And now?" she asked. He watched the monitors, watched her heartbeat. It was slowing, minute by minute. Time was slipping from his fingers and he could do nothing to hold onto the precious moments with her. "What about now?"

Maybe… maybe I do want children. "I don't know Peggy. Nat can't even have children and I… I don't — please don't go," he said, sniffing and trying to hold his tears at bay. She gave him a sad smile, the light fading from her eyes. He held both her hands, teeth jammed into his lower lip to keep it from quivering. He tried to stop thinking of his mother, coughing her way into death. How he held her hand, wiping her brow, even though he knew that it was risky considering his frail health. Now he watched Peggy die. "I loved you, Peggy. I never got to tell you back then, but I did… in a way I still do." He hung his head. "You must think I'm a weak man, holding onto a dying dream. A fading maybe."

"No, Steve, no I don't think that." Peggy shook her head weakly. "You aren't weak. You're human. A man too good for this world. You've witness the inhumanity of the human creature and somehow… you still remained a good man." She smiled at him, her love for him reflected in her eyes. "If you're a weak man, then I'm a pathetic old woman, because I've been holding onto the same dream as you."

"Peggy."

"Kiss me," she whispered. "Kiss me goodbye Steve." He blinked, staring at her and saw fear in her eyes. Fear of the end, of saying goodbye forever to all she loved and all she knew. "Promise me we'll get our dance?" she whispered as he leaned over her, smoothing her brow and thin white hair.

"I promise. We'll get our dance, after all this over Peg, we'll get our dance." He kissed her brow. "I swear it." He kissed her lips. He pulled away, the machines shrieking, the heart rate monitor a steady flat line. "Peggy?" he asked, shaking her shoulder. She rocked back and forth, limp as a discarded doll. "Oh Peggy." The tears came then, unbidden and folded his arms on the edge of her bed and cried. He didn't know how long he cried, but he looked up when he felt a hand rubbing his nape. It was Natasha. "She's gone," he whispered, wrapping his arms around his wife's waist. "She's gone."

"She valued the time she had with you," Natasha said. He nodded as he tugged her into his lap; holding her made him feel better. The nurses came in and turned off the monitors with a sense of methodic dispassion. They pulled the sheet up over Peggy's face and asked them to leave. He glared at them, not wanting to leave Peggy's side. "C'mon Steve, let's go the lobby and have some tea."

"I should've done more. Should've put something heavy on the controls to make sure the damn plane crashed… should've listened to Peggy and let her get Howard and…" he grumbled as they walked down the hall and into the lobby. He met Sharon's gaze and the other woman knew that it was over. "I should've figured out a way to save myself." Natasha pushed him into a chair and left his side to get some tea. He sat there, glaring at the table and berating himself for not doing more to prevent his freezing. It wasn't worth it. So, what if he saved the world? He lost his life for nothing, lost the woman he loved — Natasha pushed a Styrofoam cup into his hands — "I don't want tea." Zola had mocked him, saying his life and death amounted to a zero sum. He didn't think the computerized Hydra scientist was right at the time, but now he was beginning to wonder if Zola was right all along.

"Then just hold it," she said, putting her hand on his wrist. "I understand Steve." She licked her lips, unphased by the glare he gave her. "At least you got to be with her at the end. I… I never saw Alexi again. He got tangled up in the Red Room's web… and they killed him. My handler told me in my apartment. I had to pretend it didn't hurt" — she squeezed his wrist — "but it did. It hurt so much. My dear first husband. Dead because of me." He rested his hand over hers. She didn't talk much about Alexi. She had a picture of her and Alexi on her nightstand, a message on the photo in Russian. She told him once that Alexi was still surprised she even agreed to marry him. He remembered how she told him that he was the first man she had been intimate with upon her own volition since Alexi. "At least you got to say goodbye to her," Natasha said. "At least you got to say goodbye."

"I'm sorry Natasha," he said, looking up at his wife. "I really am." He wiped a tear from her cheek. She gave him a small smile and scooted her chair closer to his. "Does it get easier?"

"The ache dulls, becomes familiar, something you can ignore." She shook her head. "But it'll never go away. We have them when we have them, and we have to learn to live with that fact."

He nodded and sipped his tea, black with a bit of honey. She knew him well. It didn't feel real some days; the fact that he was alive, that he had survived the ice, that someone found him and rescued him. That everything happened the way it did. His mother always said God had a reason for doing things, even if we couldn't see it. He knew what He was doing, so we just had to trust in Him. He sipped some more at the tea, and took his wife's hand, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. "You didn't have to come with me."

"Didn't want you to be alone" — she quirked a smile — "besides, I don't think Ginger would've been around much longer if I had stayed home."

"Natasha," he sighed and buried his face into her neck, drinking in her familiar scent of fresh linen. That's what her scentless soaps smelled like to him, fresh linen. "I don't like her either, but we need to play nice." He pressed a kiss to her neck.

"Nobody would realize it was me," she said, sounding innocent. He grunted. "I am Black Widow for a reason."

"Nat," he whined as he nuzzled her skin. She chuckled and patted his cheek. Lifting his head up a bit he noticed Sharon, her face pale and her eyes sad. "Sharon." The other woman gave him a little smile.

"The funeral will be held in London," Sharon said, her voice strong and steady, but he heard the tremor of grief behind her words. "We'd be honored if both of you attended."

He took another sip of tea, nodding. "Yeah," he said, his voice thick. "We'll be there." He looked at Sharon and tried to see Peggy in her but couldn't. Not now at least. He squeezed Natasha's hand. "Thanks for calling Sharon… I'm… I'm glad I got to be with her at the end."

Sharon nodded. "I'm sure she was too, Steve. You meant a lot to her, at least this time both of you got to say a proper goodbye."

"Yeah…" he finished the rest of his tea. "At least we got that," he said as he stood up. Natasha stood too, her arm going around his waist. "I'll see you again in London. When's the funeral?"

"Next Saturday. And I'm… I know this sucks considering Christmas is soon, but—"

He shook his head. "People die, Sharon. Only God knows the manner and the hour." He nuzzled Natasha's hair. "We'll be there, I promise." He gave Sharon a small smile, before turning to go, Natasha by his side. They walked out glued to each other's hip and to their rental car. The DC air was cold and crisp, it chilled him to the bone in a way that the wintry New York air never could. He sighed, leaning against the passenger side of the car and rested his forehead against the cool metal. Once again, he lost everything. He lost his friends, he lost his home, his life, the woman he loved. Adrift in an era that was uncanny and alien to him, yet beneath that there was this disconcerting sense of familiarity. A metallic tap jerked him out of his thoughts, Natasha's hand waving on the other side of the car.

"Keys, honey," she said. He sighed, digging into his pocket and tossing the keys over. He got in once she unlocked the door. Sighing, he buckled up and stared at the window as Natasha drove from the nursing home. The streets bled into one another. "Do you want to get something to eat?" she asked.

"Not hungry," he said, "just… Irunno." He rested his head on the glass. "I'm just tired." He watched the buildings bleed into one another; decorations adorn the lampposts and windows and doorframes. Window decorations declaring Christmas specials in bright red and white flashed by. He saw it but didn't process it. He kept remembering how DC looked back in the 40s, back when he did the war bonds tour. The city had changed so much since then. Natasha turned the radio on, and  _Jingle Bell Rock_  bopped its way through the car. He frowned, turning it off and folding his arms over his chest. He heard his wife sigh, taking a left towards their hotel.

"We fly home tomorrow," she said, "pack a bit more than then fly to London the next day, sound good? I'm sure Sharon'll want you to help with the funeral planning."

He made a sound, but he didn't answer. He just wanted to be alone, so he could cry. The car slowed when it came to a red light. He watched the people walk along the sidewalk, arms loaded with bags that bulged with gifts for their loved ones. "You know," he said as the car started to pick up speed once the light turned green. "When I came outta the ice, I thought everyone I knew was gone." He rested his head against the seat's headrest, closing his eyes. "When I found out she was alive" — he gave a tight smile, swallowing his emotions — "I was just lucky to have her back." He lowered his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"She had you back too, Steve."

"You didn't have to come with me, Nat. You should've stayed home, decorated the house."

"I told you why I came." She reached over and took his hand. He stared at it, moonstruck by the gesture. "Look, we're here." She pulled into the parking lot of the hotel and parked the car, but didn't turn the engine off. He unbuckled from his seat and double checked that he had a key. "Steve?"

"You have your key?" he asked, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. He opened the door and the car began to ding. He frowned. "Nat?"

"Steve, you shouldn't—"

"Here," he pulled out fifty dollars and handed it to her. "Go get us some dinner. Don't really care. I'm going to take a shower." When she didn't take his money he shook the bill at her. "C'mon, honey."

She huffed, taking the fifty dollars and shoving it down her shirt. "Alright, I'll be back soon. Don't do anything stupid."

He snorted, a half smile appearing on his face. "You know me," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "When have I ever done anything stupid." He laughed when she cocked a brow.

She leaned over, and he met her half way to accept her kiss. "It's a good thing I love you," she said. He hummed, giving her a smile that didn't reach his eyes. She cupped his cheek. "I mean it."

"I know."

"Maybe when I get back we can talk about… the box," she said, mirroring his smile. He sighed, nodding and stood up straighter. "Go take a shower, make some tea. Relax, unwind. You need it."

"I'm in the mood for Chinese," he said. She shook his head. "Or maybe Thai. They have spicy peanut butter sauce. It's good."

"Alright soldier, I'll get you your spicy Thai chicken with peanut sauce," she said. He grinned and closed the door. He watched her drive off and sighed again, glancing up at the stormy grey clouds. He walked away from the hotel. There was no real destination in mind. He just needed to be alone. So he walked, letting his mind wander down the long corridors of his past, remembering the all he had lost. When the rain started, he didn't care despite the iciness of the drops. He passed a bar, looking at it. It was a little after five o'clock and people began to trickle in, the neon red sign declaring the establishment open. The rain got heavier and colder; he walked on.

He smashed the button for the crosswalk and blew on his hands, rubbing them together to warm them. He flexed his hands, working the blood back through them. Peggy once told him she liked his hands: big and strong with slender artist fingers. He traced the callouses on his palm, remembering how Peggy had once warmed his hands up for him during one of the bitterly cold winters in Europe. It was just before he lost Bucky, when they were closing in on Schmidt and Zola. Peggy had met him and Bucky outside after a reconnaissance mission they had completed. He gave her a condensed report and she took his hands between hers and rubbed his fingers and blew on them. He still remembered the little thrill he got when her lips brushed against his fingertips. It was a gentle tender thing, but intimate and if he had more gumption he may have even asked her to marry him right there, after the war was over. Bucky had snapped them out of their private moment, reminding them both that they needed to speak to Colonel Philips. Peggy dropped his hands and he remembered they felt colder as he walked after her.

"Walk sign on the crosswalk," the crosswalk said, jerking him back into the present. His hands were red from the cold; he tucked them into his armpits and trotted across the street, looking around to get his bearings. The freezing rain soaked his clothes as he walked back towards the hotel; he didn't care.

Shivering and dripping wet, he pulled the key card out of his wallet with numb fingers and tried to get it to work. The little light flashed red. He grumbled, trying again. It flashed red again. "Damn it," he said and tried a third time, but before he could the door opened.

"Steve," Natasha said, her eyes widening. He knew he looked wretched, he caught a glimpse of himself in the shiny steel doors of the elevator. He flinched when she put her warm hands on his cold neck. "Shit, honey, you're freezing." She tugged him inside, closing the door with a heavy thump. He looked around the hotel. It was Spartan in appearance yet the staff tried to disguise this fact with piles of fluffy towels and little soaps and shampoo bottles. The paintings hanging over the bed seemed to be lifeless and cold, devoid of the emotion and passion typical of art. He shivered, wiping the water from his nose. "I thought… what did you do? Take a walk?"

"Yeah."

"I was worried about you," she said, "I came back and the room was empty. I was about to call you." He sighed, peeling off his coat and hanging it up on the rack. "I wonder if the they have a dryer I can use to dry it a bit."

"It'll be fine," he said and shivered some more. He hated being cold, but at least being cold was feeling something. At least being cold was different from being sad. "Did you bring Thai food?"

"You need to shower first, Steve," she said, reaching to unbutton his shirt. He stilled her hands. "Your hands are cold and clammy. Shower and warm up first. Then we can eat." She offered him a smile.

"Okay," he mumbled, pulling away and going to grab his pajamas from his suitcase. He offered a small smile to her as he tucked his pajamas and toilet tree under his arm and went into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and looked around at the pristine bathroom, with its gleaming white tile and spotless bathtub. Grumbling, he peeled off his wet clothes — shivering more whenever the air met his icy skin — and turned the water on. It was tempting to take a cold shower, but instead he turned it to hot and got in, hissing at the rapid change of temperature. He stood beneath the hot stream of water, letting it beat against his skin and hide his tears. Shuddering through a sob, he got himself under control enough to wash his body and hair. The shower helped him to detach, drift endlessly in his sea of grief. He had nobody left from his original time, everyone he knew was gone.

One could argue he still had Bucky, but it felt like he didn't. He had seen Bucky off and on since his wedding last Christmas, but it didn't feel like he had his best friend back. Bucky was darker, broodier, and prone to staring off into the silence. Sometimes he and Natasha would speak together in Russian, but he didn't know about what. He worried tha Bucky may be attempting to strike up the romance they used to have, but Natasha assured him that was further from the truth. Still, to know that his best friend and his wife had lived a life together without him… hurt. He shut the water off and glared at his hands, noting the dark tungsten band on his left ring finger. It all felt like a sham, a ruse used to beguile and pacify him. He slapped his hand against the wall, mindful of his strength only moments before his hand met the wall. The pain, the pain felt too much, it hurt. It was difficult to breath, the air becoming thick and viscous and cold, so damn cold. The light faded as he sank deeper, the cold vicious and seeping as it coiled around his flesh and bones, solidifying his blood and blackness encroaching on his vision. He didn't get to hear if Peggy agreed to have the band play something slow, so he wouldn't step on her feet. He didn't want to step on her feet during their first dance. He needed air; he couldn't hold his breath much longer but swimming to the surface felt like an impossible task. The radio grabbled beneath the water, someone was calling his name he wanted to answer but if he opened his mouth he'd drown.

Hands, delicate and slender trailed over his body, a woman — it wasn't Peggy — called his name and he found he could breathe again, that there was no freezing water and he was perfectly fine in the hotel's tub. "Steve, honey, are you alright?" Natasha asked as her face came into focus. He looked around, dazed, trying to remember what happened. He was taking a shower, he finished and then— "I heard a thump and I came in. You must've slipped in the tub."

"I… I did?" he sat up, the tub squeaking as he did so. "I never fall," he said, he had great balance. Natasha gave him a little smile, as if to say it was okay, everyone falls down. She grabbed a towel and began to dry his hair. He let her, resting his head against the wall and closed his eyes. "I… I was thinking about" —he swallowed the lump in his throat — "it was so cold. I was… I was scared, Nat. You have no idea what it's like to realize you're dying but can do nothing to save yourself" — he bowed his head, a rueful snort escaping him — "only I didn't die. I froze and was found seventy years later."

"Steve."

"What am I doing here, Nat? I feel… gutted. Empty. I don't know my purpose anymore. Back during the war, it was easy: fight Nazis, take down Hydra." He shook his head. "Now I don't know anymore." She tugged at his arm and he stood up at her instance, so she could continue to dry him. He stepped out of the tub and put on his pajamas as she handed them to him. He mulled over his thoughts, trying to figure out how to best explain to her what he was felling. I miss her. I miss Peggy. He closed his eyes, following his wife out of the bathroom and to the small table where their cooling Thai food was waiting for them.

"I understand, Steve," she said, popping open the Styrofoam container. "Eat. You'll feel better."

"I don't think I can Natasha."

She pulled her chair over to him and took his hand. "Steve, talk to me." He looked at her, seeing nothing but love and concern in her green eyes. "Don't keep it all bottled up, I know it hurts. I do."

"I…" he swallowed down the urge to cry. "I miss her, Nat. I miss her so much and… it hurts."

"I know, honey, I know." She rubbed his arm. "Let it out and you'll feel better."

A shuddering sigh escaped him, the urge to cry was getting stronger and he wanted to give in, to cry and let everything out, to expose his pain to the purifying air. "I can't.'

"Steve," she said, cupping his face, forcing him to look at her. "It's okay to cry. You just lost someone you loved, you watched them die. It's okay to cry."

He broke. Pulling her into his lap, he hid his face into her neck and let out great wracking sobs that shook his entire body. He cried for himself, he cried for Peggy, he cried for Bucky and for Natasha. All the ten thousand injustices of the world, he cried for those too and he cried because this was the only way to get everything he was feeling off his chest. Five long years of being out of the ice and trying to catch up with seventy years of everything. The difficulty and the unfairness of it all. And Natasha held him through the maelstrom of his sorrow; she was the rock he held onto during the raging storm, the anchor in this sea of grief. Like all storms, this too passed after a while. He didn't know how long, all he knew was that when he allowed the tension to seep away from his body and he opened his eyes, he saw Natasha and it was sunlight bursting forth from the clouds after a storm. "I love you," he said, his voice soft and horse. She smiled at kissed him and he just held her.

* * *

They flew to London two days after Peggy died. He met her children and grandchildren, and much to his delight they accepted him, glad to finally have a face to put to the man their mother and grandmother spoke about so highly. He agreed to a pallbearer and the day of the funeral, he was at the head of the coffin, carrying his beloved Peggy to her final resting place, the British flag wrapping her coffin. Bucky — much to his surprise — was also there. He said Fury had heard and gave him leave to spend this time with friends and family. Plus, it was Christmas. So he sat between his wife and best friend, feeling connected to both times of his life.

They didn't stay in London long after the funeral. A day or two, before flying back to New York. After everything that happened in the past two weeks, he had Natasha had no time to decorate for Christmas (a fact that Ginger reminded them of when they got back). Truth be told he didn't feel like decorating much. It was nice having Bucky for the holidays but he found himself struggling to get up in the morning, his sleep plagued by nightmares and all he wanted to do was lock himself in his studio and stare at the old drawings he did of Peggy (apparently, a few of his old wartime sketchbooks survived, it was a part of the things that Fury gave back to him after the Battle of New York).

It was the day before Christmas Eve (Tony had jokingly texted him  _Merry Christmas Eve Eve_  that morning), Natasha had insisted he and Bucky get out of the house and do something. They had yet to get a tree, so that was what they decided to do today. It was starting to snow when they got to the tree farm. It was picked over, but the worker assured them that if they head up farther into the more remote regions of the farm there are still some nice trees left. They hopped onto the hay ride and rode it up the winding path of the large hill to the upper region of the farm and began their hunt.

"We haven't done this in years," Bucky said as he looked at a tree. Steve nodded, a small smile on his face. "Last time we did this, you had been skinny."

"Last time we did do this, I was skinny," he countered, and then laughed. It was good to laugh with Bucky. It was good to be doing this, to remember how to have fun and to smile. He had lost too many people, seen too much death. He couldn't let it overshadow him. "Still insisting I could carry the tree by myself."

"Well now you can," he said, a dopey grin on his face. He shook his head. "You and Nat string popcorn still?"

"No, we have ornaments."

"Steve, what's Christmas tree without strings of popcorn. We're doing popcorn," Bucky said. Steve rolled his eyes. "What about this tree?" he asked. It was a nice Douglas Fir, a bit taller than Steve, full and bushy. He took a deep breath and sighed. The cold air of winter, the cleanness of the mountains and that pine scent he always associated with Christmas.

"It's a good tree, Buck," he said. He got down on his knees, ready to cut it down when Bucky let out a groan. "What?"

"Has this stupid little orange tag on it?" he heard his friend say. Grumbling, he got back to his feet to look at it. "What does it mean?"

"I think we're about to cut down someone else's tree." He sighed, looking at the perfect Christmas tree. He was already attached to it, imagining hanging the decorations he and Nat had on its branches, snuggling up with on the couch to admire how beautiful their tree was. It hurt that someone had already picked this tree. "Let's find another."

"We can just take the tag off," Bucky said, flicking the orange tag. "Nobody would know and besides, these people said they'd be here last week to pick up their tree."

"Bucky no."

"Why not? We won't be able to find a nicer tree, all I have to do is yank it off and shove it into my pocket. You cut it down, we pay for the tree and we go home." Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets. "All you have to do is keep your mouth shut because you can't lie to save your life."

"Buck, they may come. They're probably just busy. Let's fine another tree," he said and began walking towards the other trees. He could already tell that the other trees weren't as nice, weren't as perfect. "It doesn't need to be perfect."

"Jesus Christ, Steve" — Bucky trudged after him — "nobody is gonna know. It's not like they have security cameras in the ground." He arched a brow at his friend. "What? I checked. Habit."

A giggle stopped them, and they turned to see a boy and a girl. The girl was taller than the boy by a head and they shared enough similarities that they could be siblings. "Whatcha doin'?" the girl asked, rocking on the balls of her feet with her hands behind her back.

"Christmas tree huntin' kid," he said. "Right Buck?"

"Buck? That's a funny," the boy said. "Are you a deer? Where are your horns?"

"It's a nickname," Bucky said and crouched down, gathering snow in his hands. "And deer have antlers, not horns." He made a snowball. "What are you doing here?"

"Lookin' for the enemy," the boy said, way too happy about that. "And we found him. Get 'im Evie!" the boy tossed his snowball as did his sister. Bucky did too and tugged him along with a laugh.

"C'mon Steve, we need ammo, make snowballs," Bucky said as he tugged him down behind some scraggily looking Christmas trees. "We gotta beat these kids." He gathered snow in mounds, molding them into balls. He did too, laughing.

"Keep throwing them Jake!" Evie shouted.

"Make them faster!" Jake countered. Steve shook his head, molding snow and grinning like a loon. The last time he had a snowball fight was high school. Bucky had mounded up the snow for the defensive barrier and was chucking snowballs with his right hand, his left being too strong and powerful for playing fair with the kids. They both had flushed cheeks and grins; the sorrow of the past few weeks melting away like snow in spring. Bucky laughed whenever the kids got him (Steve thinks Bucky let them) and was so glad to see his friend smile again.

"Charge!" Jake yelled, as he and his sister vaulted over their barrier and charged them. The two kids tackled Bucky pinning him down and dumping handfuls of snow onto his face. Bucky tickled them beneath the arms, mindful of his strength and metal arm. He helped Bucky by dumping snow on the kids.

"Jake, Evie, leave the nice men alone," their mother called. Steve looked over and his shoulders slumped. They came for their tree. He felt better about not taking the tag off and cutting it down, he watched the kids scramble off Bucky and ran to their mother; he wouldn't have wanted to ruin their Christmas. She came up to them, snow crunching beneath her feet. "I hope my children weren't bothering you."

"No, not at all ma'am," he said. "We like kids. Snowball fights are always welcomed and encouraged."

The woman smiled, hugging her children close. He could see it: Natasha with their child, smiling with love and pride as strangers asked about their kid. He swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing that he wanted a child just as much as she did, that he now had a chance to have a family, a child without his plethora of illnesses. Peggy had told him to taste the American Dream, not just protect it, but to hold it in his hands and cherish it. "Well, they're little rascals at times." She ruffled their hairs. "Aren't you?"

"Cici, c'mere and help. It's down," the husband said as he walked over to them. "Hi."

"Hello," he said, polite. "Nice tree."

"Yeah," the husband said, beaming with pride. "Jake picked it out. What about you two, looking for trees?"

"We were, but these two distracted us," Bucky said, "challenged us to a snowball fight. Much more important than tree hunting, right guys?" He tossed some snow at the kids, who squealed with laughter as they protected their faces from the snow.

"Yep," the children chimed and broke away from their mother to hug Bucky, thanking him for partaking in their fun. Steve sighed, a wistful smile on his face. Bucky would make a good uncle, he had plenty of experience helping his mother with his younger siblings. Bucky had always been good with kids. Even during the war, the war orphans clustered around him and he'd play games with them and hand them pieces of Hersey's chocolate as rewards for doing a good job. Bucky had joked that he needed to hook up with Peggy soon, so they could have a kid and he could play the doting uncle. He remembered laughing at that. Now… now he wondered if Bucky still wanted to be the doting uncle. By the way he played with the kids, it wasn't that far-fetched.

"Pardon?" Steve asked when the father's voice drew him out of his thoughts. "I didn't catch that."

"I said it's a shame the adoption agencies won't let nice couples like you adopt more kids. Those poor kids need good homes, and it doesn't need to be a man and woman to make a family. A family is what you make it out to be," he said.

"Err… yeah," Steve said, unsure what this man was talking about. "More orphans definitely need to be adopted by good loving families."

"Exactly, even if they are LGBTQ+ couples. People are people, and there are LGBTQ+ people that do want children and would make great parents," the father said. He pulled his children close. Steve frowned, looking at Bucky.

"It's okay, I'm not one of those crazy bigots that won't let you play with my kids," the mother said. "We recognize good people when we see them."

Bucky put his hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear, "they think we're a pair of buggers."

His eyes widened and he flushed. "Oh, oh uhm… ma'am, I uhm… he's just my friend. Best friend since childhood." He took his glove off and held up his left hand. "See? Married. Got a lovely wife. Swell girl."

"Oh, Eugene, they're still… they're still in the closet," the mother said, a sad note in her voice. "It's okay, we understand how hard it is and that our society is geared around heteronormativity." She patted his arm. "It's okay. We won't say a word."

"It's a damn shame," the father said, "that two perfectly nice guys like you have to hide who you truly are, because there are so many homophobic people out there that just don't understand that love  _is_  love. You two would make great dads." The father gave them a strange smile. "Hang in there, things are changing, people will see it." He smiled at his wife and children. "Well, see ya." He led his family over to their down tree. He watched them pick it up and trot down the hill. He frowned as he turned to Bucky.

"Do we look like two buggers?" he asked. His friend shrugged. "Or do they just see buggers when they see two men hanging out together?"

"I guess the latter," he said. "Do you still wanna look for a tree. I don't see anything with paying fifty bucks for here." Bucky looked around. He did too, seeing no tree that looked  _right_. It was a nice farm, tucked away in the mountains, with great big cedar trees ringing the perimeter. Snowflakes began to fall, and he brushed them off his hair. "Let's go home. Nat said you had a fake tree."

"Yeah," he said, tugging his glove back on. "Let's get home." He headed back down the hill, Bucky a few steps behind him. "It's a nice fake tree," he said, "spent two hundred dollars on it, looks super real."

"Huh." Bucky joined him at his side. "Well, maybe next year we'll get the perfect tree."

"We will. We'll go tree hunting in time," he said. "Hey, Bucky?" he stepped around some of the baby trees and stumps. He wasn't sure if he should ask Bucky this or not, but he needed someone to give him an answer or at least a path. "Buck?"

"Hm?" Bucky looked up. "What's up Steve?"

"Do… do you think I'll be a good dad?" he asked; they got to the road and headed down, ignoring the hay ride. They waved at the family they met, smiling as the tractor pulled ahead. He looked at his friend, Bucky pushed his hair back and sighed.

"What brings this up? What they said?" he asked. He shook his head. "What then? Steve… is Natasha pregnant?"

"No," he said, a weak smile on his lips, he wasn't sure if the sigh that escaped was relief or disappointment. "She can't get pregnant. It's just… she has a box full of baby things she has collected. She wants a child, Bucky and… I never figured I'd have kids. Dames didn't exactly want to dance with me, so what made them want to have kids with me."

"That was seventy years ago, Steve," Bucky pointed out, "now look at you. Got yourself a dame. Seemed like she doesn't mind dancing with you." He nudged him. "Have you talked to Natasha about this?"

"No. I… we… we haven't really discussed it and the only time we have really talked about it was when… when… we made whoopie for the first time." He flushed, stopping at the bottom of the hill. "You've known me my whole life, so I want to know: would I make a good father, or should I just dismiss this as a crazy idea and try to comfort Natasha about this?" He looked at his friend, feeling desperate for some guidance. "I hate seeing her so upset about this. I wish there was a way to fix it for her, but I can't. She thinks she's broken, Buck." He shook his head. "She's so strong, so brave and fearless, but this… this just breaks her." He rubbed his face. "I'm her husband, but I can't help her with this. I don't know how." He looked at his friend. "Bucky, answer me."

"I'm thinking, jeez Steve," he huffed. "Let's get into the car, we can talk about it on the drive home." He started walking to the car and Steve followed, feeling even more lost about this entire situation. He let Bucky drive and got into the passenger seat, buckling up. They didn't say anything as Bucky pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, heading to the highway. He watched the snowy trees zip by, resting his head against the head rest. "Do you want to be a dad?"

"I… I don't know Bucky," he said, looking down at his hands in his lap. He picked at his fingers. "I never figured I'd get married or want kids. I mean, I was so sick before." He sighed, shaking his head.

"Don't think about back then, Steve. You aren't the Steve of seventy years ago. You're the Steve now." Bucky made a left and started to pick up speed for the on-ramp. "I think what you should is sit down with Natasha and have a good long talk about this and think about why you want kids." He smiled. "But to answer your original question, you'll make a great dad."

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah. You're a great guy, Steve. You have a good heart, you care about people. Just think about why you would want a family, a kid. I get you want to help Natasha, but… a kid is a lifelong commitment." He looked at him. "And nobody knows how long you'll live now that you have the serum in you."

"Dr. Erskine said that I would live twice as long as the average person. Bruce said he predicted my life span to be close to two centuries." He looked at his hands. "Two hundred years Buck, I was just lucky I made it to my next birthday. Now I can't imagine living two hundred years."

"Yeah, crazy," Bucky agreed. They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Steve closed his eyes and mulled over what Bucky said. He hadn't realized it, but he had started watching dads with their kids, watching them play catch and ride a bike. They all seemed happy, fulfilled, as if something key in their life had been missing before their child came into it. He'd look at his backyard and imagine a child laughing in the green summer grass, building a tree house in the tree that they had, teaching his son or daughter how to play catch, watching fireworks with them, hunting Christmas trees and opening presents on Christmas morning. Having that sense of continuity, that his life and love and story would continue in that of his child, that when he dies someone would miss him and remember him. An unbreakable chain of love. He smiled as Bucky took the exit to the freeway that lead to their neighbourhood.

* * *

They got to the house around six in the evening. It was cold and bleak, their house lacking the external Christmas lights, but he saw a soft glow of Christmas lights through the windows and felt a warm sense of peace and contentment wash over him. He went in and saw the work Natasha did. The Christmas village was up and aglow, their Christmas knickknacks on display, artfully arranged to catch the eye and let the gaze linger just a bit before moving on. "Smells good," Bucky said. "And it's not a bad tree." He closed the door behind him. Sure enough the fake tree was in the corner near the tv. He kicked off his shoes and went to it, taking a deep breath.

"Smells like a real tree," he said. "Nat? Nat, honey?" he didn't see her and wondered where she was. "Natasha?" he called again.

"In the kitchen!" she chimed, and he went towards her voice. She pulled out a tray of baked apples. "I found a recipe on line. Turns out I can bake." She smiled. He felt the corners of his lips twitch up and he saw it: her glowing and round with their child, a future bound by love. It was a dream he long buried, given up on because of who he used to be and how his life ended up. Peggy was right, he had a chance now to live that elusive dream. "Steve?" Natasha asked, setting the tray of apples on the stove. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said, wiping his eyes and pulling her into a tight hug. "Hey… let's… let's work on having a baby."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MCU (c) Marvel Studios
> 
> Bugger is an old slang term for homosexual, it was commonly used in the British Army during WWII. If I gave offense, I'm sorry.
> 
> Anyway, this doesn't feel real Christmas-y but irunno, I like it.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.
> 
> PS: Job hunting sucks.


	6. The Sixth Christmas - 2019

To say the last three years had been tough would be a woeful understatement; it had been gut wrenching miserable. After Christmas in 2016, she had gone to Bruce in an effort to reverse whatever sterilization the Red Room had done to her. He had phone a colleague: Helen Cho, a leader in cellular regeneration research. The two examined her, determining that the scarring of her uterus and cervix, along with her tubes being tied contributed to her sterilization. To reverse it, Helen had said she'd need to undergo a special operation at her facility in South Korea. Since the technology was new there was a low success rate. So, April of 2017, she and Steve went to Seoul where Helen performed the operation and the regeneration of the interior of her uterus and cervix.

Helen told her that once healed, she and Steve could try for a baby. They did with gusto. She looked up online about the best positions to conceive, downloaded an app to help track her periods and ovulation cycles, ate the miracle foods she found on the internet and increased the protein (Steve didn't seem to mind the protein increase) in their diet. The first few months after the procedure, she failed to get pregnant, and she feared that the procedure hadn't worked and that the Red Room had taken away any chance of having a family. Glum, and feeling like giving up, Steve had taken her on a small road trip around the Northeast and somewhere along the line they had conceived. The first time the over-the-counter pregnancy test came back positive she didn't believe it and took two more with the same results. She sat down in the bathroom and cried for joy, Steve almost busted down the door when he heard, but the smile on his face when she told him would forever stay in her mind. He had held her, his large hand over her still flat stomach, his joyous tears plinking against her neck.

The joy was short lived however. A few weeks later she miscarried. She didn't even realize it happened. She woke up with some cramping and a heavy flow; it was only when she went to Bruce the next day to do the ultrasound that she learned the awful truth. Telling Steve was the worse. It hurt to see his face crumple in sorrow, to know they came close to having a baby but not quiet. Their sex life had dried up after that, their marriage hit a speed bump and she feared that their desire for a child would ruin something she treasured, driving an irreparable wedge between her and Steve. She felt like a failure, that the lost baby was her fault and that if she never had sex again she'd be spared that pain and suffering. She withdrew from Steve, their bed became rigidly separated into his side and her side. He tried to coax back into intimacy, but she rebuked his advances. Betty had told her that a miscarriage wasn't her fault and wasn't a reflection upon her as a person. So, she got back on the horse, surprised Steve with a lovely dinner (meatloaf and potatoes with whiskey glazed carrots) and seduced him.

It followed like that for the next three years. She'd get pregnant, it would survive a few weeks, and then she'd lose it. Bruce had her on a cocktail of different drugs designed to make sure her body didn't reject the pregnancy. It made her feel sicker than the pregnancy did and still she lost baby after baby. He even had a theory that her chronic miscarriages didn't stem from her repaired reproductive system but from the combination of her and Steve's serums within the developing child. The worst was the fourth lost pregnancy last year; the baby actually developed enough to look like a vague alien-esque version of a human and had a heartbeat. She and Steve went to the weekly checkup and much to their horror their baby no longer had a heartbeat. Steve said she screamed. She didn't remember what happened after Bruce told her that. It didn't help that a few days later Ginger came over to their doorstep (she refused to let the woman into her house), to tell her she was pregnant.

She endured nine months of her neighbour prancing around, pregnant and happy. She tried convincing Steve to let her killer her, promising nobody would ever figure it out that it was her, or find the body. Steve had shaken his head and packed their suitcase, feeling it was best to stay in their suite at Avengers Tower for the duration of Ginger's pregnancy. She was thankful that she couldn't hear Ginger's baby cry, but her heart hurt whenever she saw the child, knowing that no matter what she did, she seemed unable to have her own child.

During all this Steve had remained by her side. He bought her little charms about how their unborn children had wings, the three Mother's days he gave her white lilies for each child they lost and did everything to cheer her up. She watched him add the sonogram pictures to her little box and add other baby items: a little baseball cap for a boy, tiny ballet slippers for a girl. Onesies with cute sayings about how the baby was daddy's MVP or daddy's perfect princess. He'd hold her and promised everything would work out. He even investigated adoption, but the adoption agencies refused to allow them on account of her background and their profession (Tony gave them a long tirade about how its utter bullshit that Captain America was unable to adopt a kid).

But all that seemed behind them now. Her fifth pregnancy seemed a success and so far, she had yet to lose the child (Bruce kept saying the baby was hitting all the prenatal markers). They had kept it secret for the first trimester, only Bruce and Betty knew. The second trimester she and Steve told their close friends. Tony and Pepper had been ecstatic, Tony opened a trust fund for the baby. Clint and Laura gave them parenting books and advice on how to deal with the coming months (she laughed when Clint told Steve to just shut up and do as she says; don't even argue). Sam promised that he'll be there if they needed it.

Bucky was the last to find out, having been away on a mission for Fury during the excitement. It was a good thing too, for Bruce brought in a special machine that took 3D imagery of the baby. He showed them their baby in a golden image, real and alive. She watched their child suck its thumb, tiny lips moving as it did so. She could see Steve's features: his strong chin and nose. They had found out they were having a boy. She smiled at Steve as he squeezed her hand, kissing her temple as they stared at the screen, at their baby, their son. "James," Steve had whispered.

"James Clinton," she had added. Steve nodded, agreeing and everything seemed too real and too perfect in that moment. The day after that she had invited Clint over and Bucky had just returned. They announced that they were having a son, and that both would be their child's godfather and that his name was James Clinton Rogers. Bucky wept, hugging Steve tight and Clint tried to keep a straight face, but he too was moved by such an honor.

And now she was six months pregnant, the end was in sight for James was due on March 9th. It was a week before Christmas and they had been so busy setting up the nursery that they only had time to decorate the inside. It was a chilly afternoon, James had been bouncing about inside her all day, and all she wanted was to take a nap once Steve got back from New York (Tony needed him to test some things). She checked the mail — most of it was Steve's from the Army and the VA and a few bills and one or two things for her — and was heading back to the door, mindful of the icy patches, not wanting to slip and fall. "Hi, neighbour!" Ginger called.

Natasha froze, her hand going to the swell of her belly as if Ginger was some horrific demoness that would eat her precious unborn baby. Bruce had warned her that due to her past history, her PTSD (which she had well under control, thank you very much), she could have prenatal anxiety. It didn't bother her too much, she never was prone to excessive worrying, but there had always been something about Ginger that set her on edge, and it just seemed to ramp up ever since she was pregnant; she needed to end the conversation quickly and get inside to relax. She looked up and gave the woman a queasy smile. "Hi, Ginger," she said, putting her hand on the doorknob. "How are you and Robbie doing?" she asked, smiling at the little boy in her arms. She was pretty sure Henry wasn't Robbie's father as Ginger kept hinting at something about Robbie's parentage. All she knew was that the UPS man changed to a UPS girl that did this route. It could be a coincidence, but she was a spy and learned that such things weren't coincidences.

"We're doing great. Robbie's super excited for Christmas, aren't you Robbie?" Ginger asked. The little boy blinked, chewing on his finger. She smiled and already felt like the superior parent. Her own son would be the cuter baby, the smarter baby, the better baby. "Where's Steve?"

"Work," she said, with a little shrug. That sixth sense of someone watching her scratched at the base of her neck; she ignored it. "Why? You want to talk to him about something?" she asked. Though she had no proof of this, she suspected Ginger had been trying to get into Steve's pants since they met (the way she kept saying how handsome he was at their first ever meeting was more than enough grounds for cause of suspicion). Steve took his vows seriously and had turned down handyman jobs at Ginger's house more than once (this was partly due that she learned that Steve was inept as a handyman).

"Well, I was just wondering when he was going to put up the Christmas lights, you two have been slacking!" Ginger hugged her son. "We need you to step it up!" She bounced her boy on her hip, smiling. "So, would you tell him that when he gets home?"

She grinned, using every ounce of her training to belie her hatred for this woman and wishing she could show her up or murder her. Murder would be the better option, but Steve would be disappointed in her,  _if_  he found out. "I would start pulling out lights and planning the display, but you haven't told us the theme this year, Ginger. I may be pregnant but the company I work for still requires me to do IT work. Steve and I have just been too busy to attend the block meetings."

"I know, and it's such a shame that you two haven't come. We'd love to have you. It's so much fun," she said. "Anyway, the theme is Christmastime with the Avengers." She grinned. "Think you and Steve can pull it off."

She stared, wondering if this woman figured out who they were. She'll have to call Hill and have her look into it. If Ginger had indeed figured out who they were, she and Steve would need to move. They had already painted James' room a nice pale blue, decorated it with dinosaurs. She had placed the blue stuffed elephant she had gotten against the pillows of his crib. Pepper had gotten them the best baby furniture: state of the art changing table, the best crib, small dresser for the little clothes. The baby shower wasn't until late February, but James' doting aunts and uncles already gotten him things. She spent her evening scrapbooking her pregnancy under Steve's watchful gaze as he drank his chamomile tea. It had become their pre-bedtime routine and she felt sad that it would all end in a few months. Somehow, deep in her bones, she knew James would be their only child and she wanted to preserve each moment of this once in a life time experience. "Yeah," she said, nodding at her neighbour. "I'll let Steve know."

"Excellent!" Ginger said. She nodded, watching a sleek black car drive pass their houses, the windows tinted dark and she was unable to see whoever was inside. Fear prickled up her spine as her once idyllic neighbourhood became transmogrified by her fear.  _Remember your purpose Natalia._  The wind seemed to sigh, andshe jerked away from the other woman, eyes wide. Her hand went to her belly and she almost dropped the mail. She stared at Ginger, who looked surprised and a bit worried (or as worried as a snobby suburbanite woman could look). "Natasha something wrong?"

"Did you say anything?" she asked, keeping the fear from her voice. The black car pulled into one of the driveways, a man getting out and going to the house. It's nothing, it's probably just a friend of whomever lives there. No need to panic, Bruce said to keep your stress down. "I'm sorry, absentminded today" — she offered Ginger a blithe smile — "I missed that."

"I said I can't wait to see what you and Steve come up with this year and if you need anything just give me a call," Ginger said. "Are you sure you're alright? You look like you seen a ghost? Do you want me to call Steve?"

"No, no," she said, smiling and shaking her head. "I'm fine. Just need to sit down. Thanks for telling me the theme." She went inside her house and locked the door. Tense, she went to the kitchen table and dropped the mail next to her half-drunk tea before going around to lock and close all the windows and draw the blinds. She checked the security system and locked the doors leading to the outside. Get a grip Natasha, it's been years since you left the Red Room. They hadn't sent anyone after you. Steve will be home soon. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. James must've sensed her distress, for he gave a sharp kick to her side. "It's okay little one," she said, rubbing the spot. "It's okay." She sat down on the couch and turned the tv on.

Afternoon tv consisted of crap. Mostly talk shows and soap operas that she had no interest in. She selected the most mind-numbing of these, stretched out on the couch and traced patterns on her stomach. The tv was loud enough that someone at the window could hear it but low enough to allow her to hear what was going on in the house. "You're imaging things," she told herself. "You're tired and imagining things."' She laid her hands on her belly, smiling whenever she felt James move. "That's right, Mommy is just being silly and imaging things." She let out a long sigh and closed her eyes. "Nap time big guy," she whispered, smiling as she felt her son tumble inside her. She drifted off, falling asleep on the couch.

She woke up, only to see the sterile white walls of a hospital room. "Hello?" she called, wondering where Steve was, if he came home, did she go into labour and he brought her to the hospital. She dismissed that, knowing that she would have felt labour pains even in her sleep. "Hello?" she called again.

"Here's Mommy," a woman in a white nurse gown said, bringing over a blue wrapped bundle. "She's happy to see you." The nurse gave her the bundle and she smiled at the sight. Her son, her James, pink and new and healthy. She felt a love so powerful she didn't know it could exist before as she kissed her baby's forehead. He smelled new and innocent.

"James," she whispered, "James. I'm so happy… so happy." She traced his tiny face and looked up to find Steve, to show him their son and how perfect he is. "Steve?" she called, but her husband wasn't there. A slender shadow fell over her and her son, instinctively she pulled him close, shielding him from whatever horror had appeared. "Madame B," she whispered, recognizing the rat-faced woman with her silver hair pulled tight into a severe bun. "Wh-What are you doing here?"

"You forgot your purpose Natalia," Madame B said and yanked James from her arms. Her son wailed, squirming and unhappy in Madame B's arms. "Remember your purpose."

"Please, no don't this," she begged, reaching for her son. "Give me back my son, please, give him back to me." It hurt hearing her baby cry, James needed her, but she felt weak, unable to move, unable to help her son. She whimpered, tears leaking from her eyes. "Please, give me back my son." Madame B handed her a gun instead, James continued to wail. "No… no."

"Remember your purpose. Remember who you are."

She picked up the gun, the cold metal familiar and cruel. "I have no place, no name. I'm Black Widow." Madame B nodded, James cried louder, and the cruel woman looked to her left. She followed her gaze.

"Kill him," Madame B ordered, and she fired three times. "Good girl." She said, walking away and taking James with her. She looked around, her teacher was gone, her son was gone. At least she still had Steve.

"Nat?" it was Steve's voice, one filled with hurt and confusion. She turned, seeing her husband standing there, three bloody gunshot wounds in his chest, blood on his hands. "Why Nat?" he asked. "I thought you loved me? We were going to have a family, a little boy. Nat, I loved you."

"No, Steve!" she jerked forward, reaching for him but her hand met air and she fell.

She jerked awake, catching herself on the table before she fell off the couch; the local news was playing now, giving a report about local news story. "I don't need this." She turned the tv off and pushed herself back onto the couch, James fluttered about inside her as if he was asking if everything was okay. It was a strange sensation, one that never made her not smile and she swiped her hand over the swell of her stomach to sooth her son. Keys scrapped in the lock of the door, it took her a moment to realize that she was home, but she still looked around, making sure everything was how it should be: the tree in the corner by the window with lights and decorations. The Christmas village on the mantle, and their assortment of knickknacks on the table and windowsills, the wreath on the door. The door opened to reveal Steve, a couple of pizzas balanced in his hand. "Hey, honey," he said smiling at her as he came in. She smiled and got up, resting her hand on her belly and smiled when she felt James' tiny fluttering movement. He was safe and sound inside her.

It was all a bad dream. I was just tired today. She went over to her husband and kissed him. "What did Tony want?"

"Usual, test out new equipment. He built an obstacle course, wanted to see how fast I could do it. Set a record," he said as he went to the kitchen to set the pizzas down. "You didn't start the oven."

"Oh? Was I supposed to?" she asked, coming over to join him. She didn't remember him calling her about the oven.

"I called about twenty minutes ago, told you I was breaking take-n-bake pizzas home, told you to start the oven." He turned the oven on. "Didn't you hear your phone?"

"I uh… fell asleep on the couch," she said. "You got some things in the mail." She got a glass from the cabinet and poured herself some milk. "From the Army and VA."

"Oh." He washed his hands and unwrapped the pizzas. "How was your day?" he asked, throwing away the cellophane wrapping. "Nothing happened?"

"Quiet." She took another sip of milk. "Ginger told me the theme, Christmastime with the Avengers."

"Do you think she knows?" he asked as he went over to the coat rack to take off his coat and gloves and hang up his keys. "I'd hate to move, we just got the nursery set up and—" he stopped. She looked around, wondering why he had stopped. She glanced at her feet, there was no evidence that her water broke, or she had gone into labour (it was too early for that anyway, but Bruce warned that things could happen). James fluttering inside her disproved any notion of a premature birth. "Are you okay? You look pale."

"Just… tired," she said as he came over. He kissed her, and she rested her hands on his chest, whole and undamaged. It was just a dream. Just a dream. "Do… do you think Bucky can stay with us? It's a bit lonely in the house when you're gone."

"Uh… sure," he said, "don't think he'd mind. Probably wants to get away from Tony." He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into his embrace with a sigh. "I'll call him in a bit and ask."

"Thanks." She sighed, enjoying the scent of his cologne, the strength of his embrace and his hand on her belly, a protective shield over their unborn son. He pressed a kiss to her brow, a content sigh escaping his lips. "Steve?"

"I don't like leaving you home alone," he murmured into her hair. "We're so close Nat. Just a few more months and he'll be born." He grinned. She smiled and nodded. "So long as nothing happens, I'll be here for the birth. I know you hate being benched but… you can't exactly fight while pregnant and—"

"What do you mean so long as nothing happens?" she asked. Steve sighed, pulling away from her when the oven dinged. She hated being out of the loop with the dangers of the world, more so now that she was pregnant. Her maternal instinct to protect her son was strong. "Steve?"

"There's a situation in Mongolia." He put the pizzas in the oven and set the timer. "Maria's monitoring it, and she'll let us know if the Avengers need to assemble. So far nothing's been happening, but you never know." He took her hand and squeezed it. "I promise I'll be there for you when he's ready to be born."

"You better, it's a scheduled C-section," she said, smacking him in the stomach. He made a soft ow, and rubbed his abused abs. "You even picked the date." She drank the rest of her milk; she rested her hand on her belly and smiled when she felt James move. "Anything else you need for dinner?"

"Chicken wings, but I want you to go sit down, you shouldn't be on your feet so much," he said. She rolled her eyes and opened the refrigerator and grabbed the two packs extra-large chicken wings. She brought them over to the sink, got out a baking sheet and placed some paper towels on it before she rinsed the chicken wings. "Natasha."

"I know my limits, Steve." She hated how he doted on her, making sure she ate according to Bruce's diet, making sure she took the prenatal vitamins, the medicine that helped her body recognize the pregnancy as not a threat. Did she sleep well, take her afternoon nap, did she eat her afternoon snack. Did she do the stretching exercises Bruce recommended. She swore Steve had a list of questions for her; she was surprised he hadn't asked her yet. It was impossible to get mad at him, she knew it was his way of showing he cared and was trying to make sure nothing bad happened to their baby. But he had perfected a look that Tony was quick to dub the Disappointed Dad look, and to know she had disappointed Steve — Captain America, the shiny beckon of all that was good and true and honest — made her feel awful. So she ate the foods he bought her: pickles for salt, peanut butter (she hated peanut butter, but for some reason it wasn't so bad now that she was pregnant) for fats, salmon and avocado for the healthy fats. The list went on and on. She knew there was nothing he could do to prevent another miscarriage, but she was convinced he believed if he could fill her up with enough healthy foods he could at least lower the risks.

Steve gave her a look and she huffed, kissing his cheek. "Alright, I'll go sit down and turn the tv on," she said, walking off and rubbing at the annoying kink in her back. Steve made a little sound in the back of his throat and she went over to the couch and turned the tv on before flopping into the plush cushions with a sigh; well, she didn't really flop — she hadn't flopped into something for at least the last four months, the ungainly awkwardness of her body was something she was still trying to get used to. She pushed the button to make the recliner work and closed her eyes with a sigh. Everything was starting to hurt: her feet, her back, her breasts (those had been hurting on and off during the entire pregnancy), hell even her hands hurt. Groaning, she changed the channel to the national news and closed her eyes. The tv was a low hum, but she knew Steve could hear it just fine. It was peaceful, listening to him cook and the steady drone of the reporter on the tv.

The reporter said something, and she cracked an eye open, a cold chill wriggling its way up her spine. The strange anxious feeling came back, the one she felt while taking to Ginger this afternoon and she folded her arms in a protective fashion over her belly. She couldn't hear Steve cooking. "Steve?" She swallowed, her mouth going dry. "Steve?" she called again, glancing at the window that faced Ginger's house. She lowered the recliner and stood up with a grunt. "Steve?" she took slow measured steps. The toilet flushed, and he came out of the nearby bathroom, tucking his shirt into his pants. He finished adjusting himself as he came over to her.

"Yeah?" he asked, a befuddled expression on his face. She relaxed and felt stupid for thinking something horrible had happened to him. Tears burned at the corner of her eyes and he came over, wrapping her in his strong arms. She would not cry, she would not cry,  _she would not cry_! A shaky whimper escaped her throat. "Nat, honey, what's wrong?" he asked, rubbing her back.

"Just… been edgy ever since I talked to Ginger this afternoon," she said, knowing it was better to just get it off her chest instead of letting it fester. It was times like these she hated being pregnant, just wanted the entire experience over and have her baby in her arms. Steve made a comforting sound, holding her closer. "I… I had a nightmare…" she shook her head, squeaking a bit when he scooped her up bridal style. She felt safe in his arms as he sat on the couch, snuggling her.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked, running his hand through her hair. She didn't want to, but she knew she should. Being in his arms, listening to his breathing and heartbeat helped calm her down.

"I dreamt that James was born" — she smiled up at him — "he was perfect, Steve. Tiny, pink and new and… I love him. I love him so much already." She put her hand on her belly, smiling. His hand joined hers.

"I know. I love him too."

"Then Madame B… one of the instructors from the Red Room came… she… she took him away and told me to remember my purpose." She closed her eyes, shaking. "She gave me a gun and told me to shoot him. James was crying, Steve. My little boy was crying and I couldn't do anything but obey Madame B and so I did and…" she stopped, putting her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm. "I shot you. You asked me why and told me we were going to have a family… asked me if you still loved me. I woke up after that."

"Oh Nat," he whispered, smoothing her hair and kissing away her tears. During all of this, Steve had been a stalwart rock. He held her, comforted her, even went to the Lamaze classes with her, read parenting books and pregnancy books, rubbed her back and feet and took care of her. The doting annoyed her, but she could proudly say she had the best husband, the most considerate father-to-be. Most of the women in her Lamaze class were jealous of how attentive Steve was, the other husbands all ashamed that they weren't living up to Steve's standard. But, then again, they didn't know she was married to Captain America. "Hey, it's okay. You've been out of the Red Room for thirteen years, they have yet to come and get you."

"I know, I know, and its probably just hormones but… I'm still…" she curled closer to him. "I feel weak Steve and I don't like it."

"You're not. You're just vulnerable right now." He nuzzled her brow. "Look, I have to go back to New York tomorrow, but I'll take you with me. You need to get out of the house, you've been cooped up too long. Bucky'll spend the rest of the pregnancy with us and you and he can do things while I'm not home."

"Does removing Ginger count as one of the things we can do?" she asked, a teasing tone in her voice. He groaned, rolling his eyes. "Alright, alright."

"I'll call Hill, see if she can't pull some strings or something," he said. "My point is, Nat, you're gonna be fine. I'll keep you safe, and if I can't do that we have friends that are just as capable." He hugged her. "I know James is our son, but he's also the first baby to be born since the Avengers formed, and it's kinda a big deal and really special. So, everyone is gonna help."

"Thank you." She kissed the corner of his mouth. He smiled, kissing her on the lips instead. "You're going to make a great dad."

"Aw, shucks." He flushed. "Don't sell yourself short Nat. You'll make a great mom too." He hefted her up and set her on the couch. "Now, I have to check the pizzas and make the wings." He kissed her again, then he kissed her belly. "You behave James. Be a good boy and finish growing. Your mom and I can't wait to meet you." He rubbed her belly, a dopey smile on his face. She stole another kiss from him before she let him go back into the kitchen to finish dinner.

"You're making your famous wings, right?" she asked, leaning her head back to project her voice further into the kitchen. It surprised a lot of people that Steve was such a talented cook. Most people figured she did all the cooking and cleaning, but that wasn't true. Steve did most of the cooking (she could only make a few Russian dishes and a few American ones, but she loved baking). Those that visited and noticed the collection of cookbooks always asked her if they were hers and were surprised when she said they belonged to her husband. Steve loved cooking (he also loved cooking shows), and every spring and summer went to the nearby Farmer's Market. He cooked Asian, South American, Mexican, French, Italian, Mediterranean, Middle Eastern, Indian, Thai, African, Caribbean. He even cooked Russian dishes. She always loved it when he'd beam with pride at her enjoyment of a dish from her homeland. She asked him once why he enjoyed cooking some much, and he told her it's the plethora of food and his desire to try everything. But if she had to pick one dish that was his specialty, she'd have to say it was his chicken wings. On one of their rare date-dates, she suggested Buffalo Wild Wings, and the concept of having chicken wings as an entrée blew his mind. It became one of his top five favorite foods of the 21st Century. Of course, it amused her that the wait staff at Buffalo Wild Wings were surprised about how much he ate (it was one of the reasons they hardly ever went out to eat). The next day he had gone out to make his own, even making his own secret sauce (which Tony had tried to get him to market a time or two).

"You bet, can't have pizza without chicken wings," he said. She sighed, mouthwatering at the thought of his chicken wings, she'll down a couple of tums after to curtail the heartburn. It also sucked she was pregnant and her sex drive was low. Watching him suck the sauce of his fingers was erotic (in fact she was pretty sure they had chicken wings when they conceived James). "I'm making a special honey barbeque sauce for you. So, you don't have to worry about heartburn."

"Oh." She looked at the tv. Well that put a damper on things. She drummed her fingers on her belly. For once she wanted to eat something without having to worry about her stomach deciding that this just wasn't going to fly. Morning sickness sucked for the first trimester, and then she finally got her appetite back, she started getting cravings and heartburn. She was glad that she hadn't suffered constipation (yet). "I can take some tums."

"No, it's fine," he said. She sighed, rolling her eyes and focusing on the tv. She couldn't wait until she was no longer pregnant and can eat normally again. After a while she heard the sizzle of chicken frying and the pungent aroma of whatever spices Steve used in his wing sauce. She could hear him humming a song from his era, sometimes singing. It amazed her how well he took to domestic living, once he opened himself to the idea. She knew his home would always be the battlefield, protecting innocent people the horrors of the world, but it made her happy that he now had a second home, a life away from combat, a life with her and soon with their son. "Here you go," he said, causing her to jump. He chuckled. "Did I scare you?" he kissed her brow. "Sorry."

"Just lost in thought." She took the plate and inhaled wonderful smells of pizza and chicken. He set a bottle of beer on the table. It was a high end brand, Steve had taken her suggestion of being snobby about what alcohol he drunk to heart. "This looks yummy." She dug in, enjoying the pizza and wings with a happy hum. He sighed as he sat next to her one plate full of pizza another piled high with reddish-orange chicken wings. She could smell the sauce and she itched to have one, heartburn be damned. "You know," she said between bites of pizza, "if people didn't know better they'd think you're the one pregnant."

He chuckled, grinning as he reached for his beer and took a long swallow. "This is… Nice," he said, reaching over to rub her arm. He went back to eating. "Are you sure you don't want to give him a Russian name too?" he asked.

"He already has a Russian name," she said. Steve arched a brow. "Yakov Stepanovich Romanova." She shrugged. "I asked Clint to pull some strings with the Kremlin to get James Russian citizenship as well."

"But you denounced yours," he pointed out.

"Doesn't mean my son shouldn't have Russian citizenship." She knew that look, it was one of worry. "Don't worry, Steve. It's all very hush-hush. Clint knows what he's doing, nothing will trace back to me. He'll be safe. And the US doesn't recognize duel-citizenship. So, his citizenship is primarily to the US."

"What about Russia?"

"They recognize duel-citizenship, though the holder of a passport is exclusively Russian. It's… I want James to know about his Russian heritage. I gave up my Russian citizenship as a part of my agreement with Shield thirteen years ago, but I don't see why my son can't have it too." She placed her hand on her belly. "He's Russian too in a way, I want him to at least have that from me."

"He has a lot of things from you already," he said and nuzzled her cheek. She could smell the sauce and tried to kiss him to get a little bit on her lips. He pulled away. "Nope, I know what you're doing."

"Steve, please!" she whined. "Just one."

"No, I made you honey barbeque wings." He pointed to the generous helping of wings in their dark brown glaze. She made a face. "What?" he licked his thumb and she growled. She swore he knew exactly what this did to her. "I thought you liked my wings."

"I do," she said, poking at her wings. "I just like your sauce better." She looked at him, trying to muster her best puppy pout. "Please, can I have a few of yours."

"Nat, you'll complain about heartburn in a few hours. And the antacids never seem to work or they make you feel queasy. You know that."

"I know." She didn't care though. She'll suffer for this. "I won't complain." He arched a brow. "Promise." She rested her head on his shoulder. "I had a horrible day and my feet hurt and so does my back. Spice isn't going to hurt James and I know you're being considerate by making honey barbeque, you should know I hate honey barbeque." She kissed his cheek. "Always had. Also, I'm pregnant."

Steve let out a great big sigh and closed his eyes. "Happy wife, happy life." He set his plates on the table and took hers. "Alright. Alright." He swapped her helping of wings with some of his and wiped the sauce off on his napkin. "There you go, honey." He kissed her cheek.

"Thank you," she said and ate the wings with gusto. "I love these." She watched him get up. "Whatcha gettin'?" she asked. He grunted and opened the fridge. He came back with a glass of milk for her. "Oh, thanks." She took a long swallow and went back to eating. He grabbed the remote and opened the menu, looking for something to watch. They settled on  _My Big Fat Greek Wedding_. Sure enough, she did end up having some heartburn (the milk and antacids helped), and she didn't complain to Steve as she promised. After the movie Steve shooed her upstairs to get ready for bed while he did the dishes. He came up a while later, showered and crawled into bed with her. It looked odd, with her propped up by a bunch of pillows and him with his only one. Steve didn't complain though, as he could caress her belly until he fell asleep. She would watch him sleep for a few minutes before drifting off herself.

* * *

The nice thing about being an Avenger and pregnant was that the medical staff was all in house. Bruce was her doctor (though when she had asked him he had blushed awkwardly, pushed his glasses up and said he hadn't done gynecology since med school), and that meant she could get a check-up, whenever she went to the Avengers Tower. Like she was doing now. "I don't see why you wanted another one," Bruce said, "you were here last week. He looks good."

"I wanted to see him," she whispered, touching the screen as she watched James suck his thumb. She could see Steve's facial features already in her son and it made her wonder if he'll have any aspect of her. "Do you think he'll have the serum?"

"He should," Bruce said. "He should have both your serum and Steve's. What percentage I'm not sure and I won't know that until I draw some blood." She glared at Bruce and he flushed. "Look, I won't experiment on him, Tasha, but… at least let me draw some blood after he's born. Not a lot, he won't even know. If Erskine's formula can be passed on genetically, we should know… especially once it leaks that James is Steve's son." Bruce made a face. "Cause they won't even need James. They'll just need to get ahold of Steve and well…"

She huffed. "I get it," she said and turned her gaze back to the screen, watching as James waved his little hand. She smiled, tracing the image of his tiny fingers. "He's beautiful."

"Yeah, he's gonna look like a squashed beetroot when he's born." Bruce cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, I'm being cynical." Bruce moved the wand to get a better picture of James. "And how have you been?" he asked.

She closed her eyes with a long world-weary sigh. "Tired, sore. It's the last leg and I'm already ready for this to be over." She smiled despite it all. She frowned, biting her lip and debated if she should tell Bruce about yesterday. She had minor bouts of worry and anxiety during her pregnancy, but it was normal things: what would giving birth be like, would she recognize a contraction when it happened, would her baby like her, would she be a good mother, could she do this? Yesterday was different. "Yesterday I… I thought the Red Room was coming back for me. I had a dream that my old instructor took James and forced me to shoot Steve." She looked away, studying the equipment in the room, listening to the hum of the ultrasound machine. She looked at the screen when James's head came into view. She smiled at her baby, hoping that the dream was just that, a dream. "Is that normal?"

"I wouldn't say it's normal," Bruce said, "pregnant women can have really weird dreams. The hormone changes, along with the physical and the growing attachment to the baby all lead to unique dreams." He rubbed his nose. "Also, you have to factor in you do have PTSD, well managed as it is. This could lead to prenatal anxiety."

"I haven't had any symptoms of PTSD in years and ever since Betty took over the mental health management for us, I've—"

"I know, Tasha," Bruce said, "but like any mental health issue, you go without displaying symptoms for years and then it pops up again. You'll always have PTSD, you're just more willing to work with the therapy available than Steve is. That's all." Bruce nodded at the screen. "Look, he's waving at his mommy."

"Hi baby," she whispered, touching the screen. "Will it happen again?"

"Possibly. A lot of anti-anxiety meds don't mix well with pregnancy, so the best thing I can tell you to do is relax, don't worry and if you feel anxious or something talk to Steve. And if it gets real bad, leave. Have him take you somewhere, go for a walk."

"Bucky's gonna stay with us until the end."

"Speaking of the end," Bruce said, "I want you to relocate to the Tower no later than the end of February. I'm not expecting you to go into labour before the scheduled C-section, but on the off-chance you might, I rather you be two floors down from medical rather than an hour and half away."

"I'll tell Steve, I'm sure he'll agree." She smiled, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that in a few months she'll be a mother and she'll hold James in her arms. The door behind Bruce hissed open; Steve and Tony walked in. She smiled at Steve and gave Tony a nod.

"So, this is the little Caplet," Tony said, leaning forward, resting his hands on his knees. "Yeah, I'm sorry. Not seeing the family resemblance." She glared at him, wondering why Tony insisted on following Steve in here. He never shown any interest in viewing the sonograms before.

"It's an ultrasound image, Tony, it's not the best quality," Steve said, "and don't call my son Caplet."

"Why not? He's your kid, gonna throw your mighty shield one he's grown up" — Tony mimed throwing the shield — "though he is Tasha's boy so… he could be like her instead. All deadly spider-y-ness." She rolled her eyes. "I got it. Capling."

"No, Tony, he's not even born." Steve rubbed his face. She sighed as Bruce switched the machine off and handed her a paper towel to wipe the jelly from her belly. She agreed with Steve, James didn't need a dumb nickname. "His name is James."

"Should've gone with Anthony. Lovely name. I know, it's mine." Tony leaned against a wall. "But think about it Steve. Capling is perfect. Baby spiders are spiderlings, he  _is_  a baby spider — cause his mother's one — and he's Captain America's son, so he's an honorary captain—"

"That's not how military ranks work," Steve protested. She reached for him and he took a step forward to help her sit up. He rubbed her back with his hand and she smiled, enjoying his touch.

"So, you put the two together and boom!" Tony clapped his hands. "Capling." He grinned, impressed with his own logic. She rolled her eyes and shimmied off the bed. Steve was at her side and she had a death grip on his bicep.

"Bruce you made the bed too high again, I can barely touch the ground with my toes," she said, allowing Steve to mollycoddle her (eve if it vexed her that he did it in front of their friends). She dug her nails into his arm as she found her balance again.

"Do you think Pepper would like a baby?" Tony asked as she gathered up her purse. She arched a brow, surprised Tony even brought it up. She could see Pepper being a mother but could not picture Tony being a father. In her opinion: he was still too egoistical. She snorted at the notion. She handed Steve her purse as he picked up her coat.

"You have to marry her first, Tony," Steve said, holding her coat for her as she slipped her arms in. "Then you talk about babies. Doesn't work the other way around." She smiled when he kissed her head and handed her purse back to her.

Tony made a face. "Anyway, Tasha, Steve told me about your neighbour problem. I'll be by tomorrow to fix everything." He grinned at her. "The theme should a piece of cake."

"Tony," she asked, her voice low in warning, "what do you plan to do to my house?" She didn't need a disaster and she was pretty sure she and Steve could out do Ginger by themselves. "I don't want a mess and I don't want Ginger to know who we are. To everyone else, Steve's a mild manner veteran that works at West Point and I'm his computer geek wife that heads up Stark Industries cybersecurity division."

"And how did you—"

"Pepper." She gave him a sweet smile. "I expect to keep that façade in place. Nobody knows that Captain America and Black Widow have a quiet life in the New York suburbs." She draped her arm over the top of her belly, feeling average and normal with Steve be her side, his arm over her shoulders.

"If you want to win this thing, you must let me do it my way," Tony said. "Besides, I thought Steve here was going to talk to Hill about getting the Angry Cookie Mom relocated?"

She snorted a giggle at that. "Angry Cookie Mom?" she grinned. "Alright, fine. Nothing too over the top, just enough for me to win this stupid trophy she gets every year." She ran her hand over her belly, James fluttering about. Bucky appeared outside, looking uncomfortable and awkward, torn between wanting to go in and remaining outside. "Can you do that?"

"Tell me no secrets and I'll tell you no lies," Tony said. "Don't worry, everything will be fine. Pick up lights while you're at it. A lot of lights."

"We will," Steve said as they headed out of the medical wing and greeted Bucky. "You know you could've come in."

Bucky shook his head. "Nah. Don't really like… medical wings," he said, rubbing his left arm. She wondered if he had feeling in the metal limb, she knew the motor function mirrored that of a real arm, but she never had the heart to ask him if he could feel with it. She imagined he couldn't considering she had seen him block bullets with his hand. "You two ready to go?" he asked. "How's the little guy?" he asked, his right hand resting on her belly. She smiled as she watched Bucky's eyes widen when he felt the baby kick.

"Healthy, perfect. Bruce said he has some growing left to do then he'll put on weight before he's born," she said, smiling at Steve. Bliss washed over her when Steve dropped a kiss to her forehead. Thirteen years ago, when Clint pulled her from the Red Room, she would have never imagined that one day she'll be married and pregnant. If someone had to her this was her future, she would have laughed. Yet, here she was, and she wouldn't trade it for the world.

"That's great," Bucky said. "I'm happy for both of you." He patted her belly. "Well, let's get going." He turned and started heading to the elevator. "I brought my bag down to the car already."

She watched Steve's friend for a moment. "Did you tell Bruce about what happened yesterday?" Steve asked, leading her and she followed. He kept his arm around her shoulders, making sure she remained close. She leaned against him, content.

"Yeah. He told me that because of my PTSD, I could have a higher chance of prenatal anxiety."

"And?"

"Told me to relax and keep calm, and if you have to take me away." She smiled up at him. "You're gonna be home more right? I mean it's almost Christmas." They reached the elevator and Steve pressed the button to call it. Bucky was leaning against the opposite wall. "I can't imagine Tony'll want you to test more things."

"I'll be home more," he said. "And if I have to go, you'll have Bucky."

"Bucky isn't you," she murmured. "No offense, Bucky, but—"

"None taken, I know you want your baby daddy close." He winked at Steve. She glanced at Steve, who frowned.

"I thought that term was used for children born out of wedlock," he said, pressing the button again. "Damn elevator."

"Language, Stevie, tiny ears are close," Bucky said, nodding at her belly. She smiled, running her hand over it. "He can hear right?"

"He can, but I don't think he hears the same way you and I do. I know he recognizes my voice and Steve's," she said, feeling James flutter. He always did whenever they talked, as if he wanted in on the conversation. The elevator doors open and they went in, Bucky using his metal arm to prevent the doors from closing too soon. The doors slid shut; she leaned against Steve with a sigh, a smile on her face when he kissed the top of her head.

"Tired?" he asked, his voice soft.

"A little."

"Don't worry, we just have to stop off at the hardware store and buy the Christmas lights for Tony and then we'll go home," he said. She nodded, leaning into him and wondering what Tony had planned for the theme.

* * *

The house felt packed and she wasn't sure if she liked it or not. She could hear Tony and Sam on the roof, banging away at whatever mad idea Tony had for the Christmas light competition. She was in the kitchen, with Laura and Pepper, making finger food and talking about everything baby (which she was starting to get bored of), and funneling bottles of beer into the living room for Clint, Steve and Bucky as they watched the tv. It was  _Die Hard_ , and she was still surprised that Laura and Clint let Cooper watch it. Lila was in the kitchen with them, helping her mom make Christmas cookies. Steve came in, smiling and kissed her. "Doing okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, leaning back to check the jalapeño poppers. "You sure Tony doesn't need you outside?"

"He said he wants Bucky and I to lift the heavy stuff but since that's not happening yet, he wants us on standby." Steve frowned. "I should go out and check how he and Sam are doing, it's getting dark. I should get the flood light." He headed to the garage, muttering to himself. Pepper and Laura chuckled.

"He's a goof sometimes," Laura said. She smiled, nodding. "He's gonna make a great dad."

"All the women in my Lamaze class are jealous," she said, "they all want a husband like him. Steve tries to give pointers to their husbands, but nobody can compare to Steve. He's just… a good man."

"Why are you doing a Lamaze class, I thought you're having a C-section?" Pepper asked as she whipped up a dipping sauce for the poppers and poured some chips into a bowl, mixing it with shredded cheese. Pepper often joked she doesn't get to play domestic much anymore, but there was a time when she cooked her own meals.

"Bruce wanted me to take one, as a fall back if I go into labour before March 9th or on that day. He said my due date is kinda sketchy considering everything I had to go through to get to this point." She patted her belly, smiling when she felt James move.

"He's moving, isn't he?" Laura gave he a knowing smile. "I can tell. I had that same look whenever I felt Lila or Cooper move. It's special." She sighed wistfully. "Clint and I have been talking about having another baby."

"Oh?" Natasha cocked her brow. She figured Clint and Laura were done having children. They already had Lila and Cooper, she couldn't fathom that they wanted to add a third child.

"Tony's been nagging me about babies too, ever since he saw the ultrasound image," Pepper said. "So, you know what he did last night?" Pepper was giddy, a wide smile on her face and she was almost bouncing with the need to tell them. Natasha smiled, remembering when she first told Steve about this pregnancy, she could barely contain her excitement.

"Mommy, can I turn the mixer on?" Lila asked, hopping up and down in her pretty pink apron, pulling everyone's attention away from Pepper. "Please?" Laura peered into the bowl and nodded. "Yay!" Lila turned the switch on and the machine whirled into life. "You're gonna have some cookies too, right, Auntie Nat?" Lila asked.

"Wouldn't miss your cookies for the world, just remember to save some for Santa," she said, running her hand up and down Lila's back. It was easy to imagine James in a few years, helping in the kitchen during Christmas, wanting to be just like his daddy. She looked to the window, hearing some commotion outside; Steve was yelling and Tony was yelling back and there was a bloom of white light.

"Okay!" Lila chirped, looking at the mixing bowl. She watched it for a bit before holding up the cookie cutters. "Do you think Santa would like reindeer cookies or Christmas tree cookies?" she asked. "Auntie Nat!"

"Hmm?" she turned away from the window to look at the little girl. "What sweetheart?" she asked. Lila gave a long suffering sigh and held up the two cookie cutters.

"Reindeer cookies or Christmas tree cookies?" she asked. "Which one do you think Santa would like better?"

Natasha tapped her lip. "Hm. I think Santa would like both!" she tweaked Lila's nose. "So, make both and we can decorate them."

"Who's going to play Santa?" Laura asked, as she mixed the icing for the cookies. "The dough's reading Lila. Turn the mixer off and we can start rolling it out." Lila squealed, reaching for the switch on the mixer. "And watch your fingers."

"Okay, Mommy."

"Who normally plays Santa?" Pepper asked, as she pulled the poppers out and put the bowl of chips and cheese in. "Tony would probably want to make an Iron Santa suit or something." She smirked. "He proposed to me last night."

"He what?" Natasha almost dropped the plates she was carrying. She set them down and went over to Pepper, who held out her left hand to show off the stylish engagement ring. She and Laura oohed and awed over it. "That's a beautiful ring."

"It's lovely, Pepper, oh congratulations!" Laura hugged her. "I'm so happy for you and Tony. When's the wedding?"

"This summer, we haven't set a date yet, but we're thinking having it in Malibu," she said. "You're all invited of course. We'll fly everyone out."

"I'm not sure if James'll be old enough to fly," Natasha said, in a low murmur. She wasn't sure how she and Steve would adjust to life as parents or if they'd want to take their baby across country so soon.

"Nat, it's in the summer," Laura said, "you can fly with your baby two weeks after he's born. Plus, this is months after James'll be born. You'll be fine."

"And it's a private jet. Nothing to worry about," Pepper added. "Tony would be upset if you two miss our wedding."

"Wedding?" Clint asked. "There's another wedding?" he looked between the women. "Poppers done?"

"Right here," Laura said, handing over a plate full of them. "Is Bucky still in the room?" she asked.

"Nah. He went out with Steve when Steve went to bring out the flood light. I guess they're still out there." Clint turned to the living room. "Coop. Poppers and cheese sticks are done." Clint loaded a plate with marinara sauce and cheese sticks. Cooper trotted in. Natasha was surprised how big the boy had grown since last year. Cooper almost came up to Clint's armpit. "Here. Don't fill up on this stuff, your Uncle Steve's gonna make chicken wings once he's done helping Uncle Tony." He took his plate of poppers and went back to the couch with his son. Laura rolled her eyes and followed them with a beer bottle in one hand and a can of ginger ale in the other.

"Oh, I need to get the chicken out," she said and opened the fridge, pulling out the six packages of chicken wings. She brought them over to the sink and began washing them, dumping them into a large bowl. She looked up when she heard clunking on the roof and more shouting.

"I was thinking Steve can play Santa this year," Laura said, as she came back from the living room. She smiled at Pepper and Lila, the little girl busy cutting the cookies. "I have a costume, it should fit him."

"I'll ask," Natasha said, grimacing as the cold water numbed her hands. Laura joined her at the sink. "Thanks."

"Did you buy out all the chicken wings at the grocery store?" she asked, eyeing the packs of chicken. Natasha laughed. "Because holy moly."

"Just about, Steve and Bucky can eat a dozen in one sitting. Super soldier metabolism, and I can eat a lot, because I'm pregnant with a super soldier."

"He has the serum?" Laura asked, nodding at her belly. She shrugged.

"I think so. He kicks hard enough and he's pretty active." She smiled. "Steve said that the serum effected all his cells, and I'm sure the Red Room serum they used on me did the same. Bruce said we won't know for sure until he takes a blood sample. We could probably know sooner by testing the amniotic fluid, but he doesn't want to risk it. So we'll wait until he's born and let Bruce take his blood sample." She shook her hands, having gotten through a pack and a half of chicken. "I need to get Steve in here otherwise he'll be frying chicken wings all night." She rinsed her hands and dried them. "You don't mind taking over do you?"

Laura looked over at Lila and Pepper. "Yeah, I'll finish these up. Go get them otherwise Cooper and Clint will eat all the poppers."

"I heard that," Clint said from the living room. She and Laura laughed. She walked out of the kitchen, pausing at the door to grab her coat and slip on her shoes before heading outside. It was dusk, the western sky fiery orange and golden yellow with purplish indigo bearing down. She couldn't see many stars, just a prick or two of pale white light. Their neighbourhood was decorated with tacky blown up figures of the Avengers wearing Santa hats (one even featured Steve but his shield was red and green with a Christmas tree in the middle). She couldn't deny that it was rather festive and goofy, but in a fun carefree way that brought a smile to her face.

"Hey honey, whatcha doing out here?" Steve called from the room. She turned around, hands tucked into her armpits and her mouth fell open. Christmas lights outlined her house and atop the roof were animatronics versions of the entire Avengers team (including Thor and his Yule goat). Black Widow, Hawkeye and Iron Man were in a sleigh, while Captain America and Hulk pulled it and Thor led the way with his goat tucked under his arm.

"Tony, what did you do to my house?" she shrieked. Tony appeared, grinning like a loon. "What do you expect us to do with this once Christmas is over?"

"I'll take care of it Tasha," Tony said. "What do you think?" he surveyed his handiwork. "They even move and sing."

"I think we'll win," Steve said. "Nat, are you…"

She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "And what are these two on the lawn?" she asked, pointing to two more decorations. They weren't brightly lit like the ones on the roof. Tony smirked, pulling out a controller and hitting a button. She yelped, taking a step back, her hand on her belly as the two decorations came to life.

"Falcon and War Machine," Tony said. "Can't have the Avengers without these two."

She watched as Falcon's wings moved up and down, and War Machine's head turned side to side. Both wore Santa hats and carried a present. "Steve, you need to come in and start the wings," she said.

"Oh." He looked around.

"Go on, Bird Man, Manchurian Candidate and I got this," Tony said. Bucky and Sam grumbled about their nicknames. Steve nodded and walked to the edge of the roof.

"Steve, no, don't" — he jumped off the roof, landing in a low crouch with a grunt — "jump of the roof."

"Why? Nobody out here but us," he said, wincing a little as the impact faded from his feet. He kissed her. "Let's go back inside and I'll start cooking. How are the cookies coming?"

"Fine, and Laura wants you to play Santa later."

"Uh… okay?" he looked at his middle. "Think I may be a little lean for Jolly Ol' St. Nick, though."

"We can tie pillows to you," she said, patting his stomach with a chuckle as he opened the door. "You know," she said, walking into the garage. "Bruce was right."

"Huh?" he gave her a moonstruck look. "Right about what?"

"Remember back in 2012, when we got caught beneath some mistletoe during Tony's Christmas party?"

He frowned, thinking about it for a moment. "Oh, yeah." He smiled. "I said I could damn well kiss my own dame" — he nudged her — "and I did."

"You did, and Bruce said that German tradition says that a couple that kisses beneath the mistletoe will end up being married. Now look at us."

"Married and with a baby on the way," he said, smiling and rested his hand on her belly. "I can't believe it. Sometimes it doesn't even feel real."

"Oh, it's real. He kicks hard, definitely your son." She smiled. "You never explained to me what you meant by fondued." She said, stopping at the door that led from the garage to the interior of the house. He flushed, and they could hear lively chatter through the door. She shivered a little. "Well?"

"When I went to rescue Bucky from the Hydra camp near Azzaro, Howard and Peggy went with me — well not with me with me, Howard flew the plane and Peggy was there to tell me what I needed to know. Anyway, Howard asked her if she wanted to get some fondue and I had no idea what fondue was, so I thought it meant" — he flushed and made a vague gesture to her stomach; she cocked a brow — "uh… sex." His ears and cheeks turned pink. "Peggy rolled her eyes when I asked her if she and Howard fondued. Come to think of it she always rolled her eyes when I said something obtuse like that." He chuckled. "You do the same." He gave her a boyish half smile.

"Ah, so that's what you meant by fondue," she said. "C'mon, those chicken wings won't fry themselves." She opened the door and entered the kitchen. By the looks of it Laura had started frying the wings, the cookies were cooling on a few racks and Pepper was in the process of making another round of nachos. Lila was nowhere in the kitchen, but she heard a grunt and the little girl appeared.

"Auntie Nat! Auntie Nat! Come and watch Rudolph!" Lila said, tugging her hand. She looked over at Steve.

"Go sit down Nat, I'll bring some food over to you," he said. She smiled at Lila and allowed the little girl to lead her to the couch. She sat down with a groan next to Clint.

"You okay?" he asked. She smiled patting her belly.

"Just fine," she said, lifting her arm up so Lila could snuggle next to her. She smiled down at Lila, who put a small hand on her belly. "Saying hi to your cousin James?" she asked, taking Lila's hand and putting on the spot where she could feel James move. Lila's eyes grew wide and she gasped a little wow when she felt the baby move. Rudolph had joined the other reindeer in their games, but was soon outed for having a red nose and thus bullied.

"He's moving," Lila whispered. Natasha smiled, running her hand through Lila's hair. "Does it feel weird?" she asked.

"When it first started it did, but now not so much," she said. Lila nodded, rubbing little circles. "You're going to be a good big cousin to James, right?"

"Yeah, I'll be better than Cooper," Lila said, "he's not a good big brother. He's mean to me." Natasha glanced at Clint who rolled his eyes and shoved another popper into his mouth.

"Oh, I doubt that. He loves you," she said, looking at Cooper, who was seated between his dad's feet, a can of ginger ale in his hand.

"Maybe. But he yanked the head off my Barbie last week and tried to get me to play with him like that. I was so mad!" Lila's lower lip jutted out in a pout. "Daddy told him off though and made him apologize."

"I see," she said, looking at Clint.

"Kids fight," he said. "Popper?" he offered the plate. She grabbed a few cheese sticks. "Or cheese sticks, doesn't matter to me."

"Will James be strong like Uncle Steve?" Lila asked. Natasha smiled, looking over at Steve, mixing the wings that Laura had finished. She could see Steve and James working together in the kitchen, Steve teaching their boy the recipes his mother made, one generation's love passed down to the next like an unbreakable chain. She ate a cheese stick.

"Yes," she said, once she finished swallowing. "I think he'll be strong like Uncle Steve and have a big heart like him too."

"Good, I like Uncle Steve," Lila said. Natasha smiled. "I'm glad you married him, Auntie Nat."

"I'm glad I married him too." She looked up when Steve came over with a platter of wings. "Right, honey?"

"Huh?" he blinked. "Hey, Lila. Haven't seen you all day." He ruffled the little girl's hair. "You been behaving for your mom and dad? Been a good girl for Santa?" He winked and Lila nodded.

"I have!" she said. She shot a glare at Cooper. "Cooper hasn't, so that means he gets coal in his stocking!"

"Hey, I've been good, twerp," Cooper said, reaching for one of the throw pillows on the ground. Clint nudged him with his foot. "Ow."

"No throwing things, we have food and a pregnant lady with us," Clint said, "and Lila, stop antagonizing your brother or I'll call Santa and tell him to bring you both coal." The two children gasped and settled down at the thought of not having Santa visit them. Natasha chuckled and took some wings, turning her attention back to the tv, where Rudolph and his friends found the Island of Misfit Toys. She always did like the Misfit Toys, feeling a sort of kinship with them.

"Thanks," she said. "What flavor?"

"Honey and cracked pepper," Steve said and kissed her head. "And yes, I'm glad I married you too." He looked up at the ceiling. "I should tell them that the wings are ready, get them inside. They should be finished."

She nodded, munching on the chicken. Laura came over with another platter of chicken, this one coated in Steve's special spicy sauce. Clint dug in with gusto. "Steve, you need to tell Laura what goes into this sauce, it's excellent."

Steve laughed. "Sorry, but I can't. Captain America's secret, classified, you don't have a high enough clearance."

"Spoil sport," Clint grumbled, licking his fingers. "Do you know Nat?" he asked. She smirked around mouthful of food.

"He doesn't tell me anything," she said, after she swallowed. "The kitchen is Steve's domain." She munched on another wing and gave a surprised grunt when James gave her a hard kick. She rubbed the abused spot on her belly, looking up when she heard clunking on the roof and the creak of the metal ladder. A few minutes later: Tony, Bucky and Sam came in. Tony was beaming, Sam and Bucky made their way to the kitchen, Pepper holding two plates piled with nachos and wings for them.

"It's done. If you don't win I'll be personally offended," Tony said, coming over to the couch. "You'll have that stupid trophy on your mantel and Ginger can eat out of your palm for the next year." He glanced at her belly. "May I?" he asked. She nodded, and Tony placed his hand on her belly. "He's moving. Like an alien. Sure, it's not a chest-buster?"

She rolled her eyes and swallowed her mouthful of chicken. "I'm sure Tony. I'm very much pregnant with a human child." She smiled when Steve came over with some milk for her. "Thanks honey." She took the glass, sipping it.

"Tony, you want food?" Steve asked. Tony stood up, patting her shoulder.

"Of course," he said. "I'm feeling peckish after everything. Hey, you got any beer?" he asked, heading into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator door and pulling out a bottle of beer. He took his plate from Pepper and found a spot at the table to sit. "Do you have a bottle opener, Tasha?" Tony asked.

"Uh—"

"You mean yours doesn't twist off?" Bucky asked, mock surprise in his voice. "Have you tried? Just give it a twist."

"Don't listen to him Tony. He's done this to me before. They both have," Sam said. "I hate it when you guys do it too."

"Steve always buys twist tops, right?" Bucky asked. Steve grinned and sat next to her. Lila smiled at him as she moved to make room for him to sit down. The little girl gave Natasha's belly a pat and went to snuggle against her father's side. Laura brought her children over some chicken wings.

"Yep." He took his own beer bottle and twisted the cap off. She rolled her eyes. "Twist tops Tony."

"Y'know, I'm trying and all I'm doing it hurting my hand." Tony grumbled as Bucky tried to hide his laughter. "Are you sure these are twist tops?"

"I wish you wouldn't do that," she told Steve as he took a long swallow from his bottle. "It's mean."

"And he never plays pranks on me?" Steve asked, arching a brow. "Really, Nat. It's harmless fun. If I recall you used to find it funny."

"Joke got old real fast Steve, besides you're going to be a father soon. What type of example will you be setting for James? You can't just play mean-spirited pranks on your friends. James will pick up on that."

"Last I check, James is nestled safe inside you" — she glowered at him — "why are you suddenly grumpy? I thought you were in a good mood."

"I  _am_  in a good mood, just because I ask you to stop being a jerk doesn't mean I'm grumpy."

"If I try to twist any more Steve, I'm gonna cut my hand," Tony said. She glared at Steve, jerking her head in Tony's direction. Steve pouted.

"Bottle opener's in the silverware drawer," he said. She heard Pepper get it, and Tony express delight at finally getting his beer open.

"That was a mean trick," Tony said, coming to loom over them from behind couch. "And after I made sure your wife's gonna win this stupid Christmas light contest." Tony tried to wiggle his finger into Steve's ear. Steve mimed punching Tony in the dick. "Hey, easy. I wanna have spawn one day."

"Did you such refer to our future children as  _spawn_?" Pepper asked. Tony grimaced and went over to his fiancée, telling her he was only joking about calling their kids spawn. Natasha quirked a smile, setting her empty plate to the side. The movie had ended, the credits rolling and the channel announcer informing them that the next movie would be  _The Year Without a Santa Clause_. She leaned against Steve, who slipped his arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, dropping a kiss to her head. "I didn't know it bothered you that much."

"It's fine," she said. "I guess I'm tired. Didn't get my afternoon nap." She pressed herself closer to him. He was warm and solid, comforting. He made a little humming sound in the back of his throat and tilted her head up to peck her lips. She could taste the hops from his beer on his lips and she slipped her tongue into his mouth to try and get more of the forbidden taste. He grunted in surprised. "Sorry," she mumbled, once they broke apart.

"Don't be." He cuddled her. "Why don't you take a nap, I'll wake you up when the judging starts."

"But—"

"Go on, nobody is going to say anything," he said nudging her. "I don't mind." Mrs. Claus had sent the two elves, Jingle and Jangle, down to the United States in an effort to find some Christmas spirit and belief in Santa.

She nodded, pillowing her head against his shoulder. "Okay," she said, allowing her eyes to droop. She felt Steve's chuckle.

"I was thinking you head to our room and sleep there."

She shook her head. "Nope. Too far. Don't wanna walk." She quirked a smile. "Besides you make a nice pillow."

"Well, your pillow is getting up, he wants more chicken wings," Steve said and stood to get more food. "Don't worry, I'll be back." He went into the kitchen to refill his plate. She chuckled, closing her eyes again, her hands on her belly and a smile on her face whenever she felt James move. She was almost asleep when Steve sat down again, but all she did was snuggle against him once he got comfortable and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

She woke about an hour later, Steve's handsome face greeting her. She was grateful that her nap was dreamless. "Is it time?" she asked. He nodded.

"Yeah. Don't worry, we got the kitchen all in order. Everyone else is outside," he said, taking her hand. "Ready?"

"Gimme a moment, Rogers," she said, grunting as she shifted her awkward body into a better position to get out of the couch. Steve pulled her out of the seat, and she held on to him until she got her balance. "Alright, let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

"Hopefully we win this year," he grumbled, helping her into her coat. They walked to the door, his hand on the small of her back. She stopped, staring at the door and envisioning the crowd of people: their friends and family, Ginger and her family, the other neighbours they barely knew, the mothers asking her about her pregnancy and when she's due and all the other typical questions people bombard a pregnant woman with. She didn't want to go out there. That anxiety she had earlier this week crept up her spine and she glanced around at the shadows, making sure nobody from her past was lurking within.

"Steve, I… uh… I don't wanna go out." She pulled away from him. He frowned, and she stared at the beige carpet. It was dirty from all the foot traffic and she hadn't had time to vacuum in forever. It bothered her that her house wasn't clean, that Bucky had to help set up the Den downstairs for Clint and Laura and their kids for tonight. She knew she shouldn't, none of this should bother her, she was pregnant after all and Bruce did want her to take it easy. But it did, and it annoyed her.

"You okay?" Steve asked, worry in his tone and on his face. "You've been hoping to win this stupid thing all year. Not showing up would give Ginger—"

"I know, and I don't care, Steve," she said, her voice shaky. Get it together, Nat, you're Black Widow, you shouldn't be crying over stupid things like this and — she hiccupped, trying to stave off tears. "I just… I don't want to go out. I'm not feeling well." She struggled out of her coat. She heard him sigh and help her. "I'm going to shower and go to bed, alright?"

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, giving her a helpless look. It broke her heart; he was so used to fixing things, correcting situations when they go south, that when she got like this — moody and emotional — he felt powerless to fix it. Women these days act like they didn't need a man to fix their problems, but she learned through Steve that it was almost instinctual for a man to fix a problem for a woman, not because they viewed them as helpless (and Steve knew she was far from helpless) but because it was something primal. She shook her head and his shoulders slumped. "Okay, uh… well, feel better." He kissed her cheek and headed outside. She nodded and went upstairs. She took a shower and brushed her teeth. She fluffed her mountain of pillows before getting into bed but couldn't sleep. She kept hearing the annoying song Tony had programmed the figures to sing:  _"Grandma got run over by a reindeer! Walking home from our house Christmas Eve."_ And she sat up when she heard fireworks go whistling off into the sky. In the end, she gave up on sleep and went to the nursery.

She turned the light on, looking around the room, the carpet new and springy beneath her bare feet, the walls painted a pale blue with cute dinosaur decorations. A small Captain America night light was beneath the window. To her left was the mahogany crib she picked out with Pepper, good for newborns to two years of age. It was a good sturdy crib with a slot for the baby monitor. The mattress was soft yet springy and she had bought a sheet with the Avengers on it.

Opposite the crib was the matching changing table, with drawers for diapers and diaper wipes and diaper powder and anything else she thinks would help change her baby's diaper. A trash can with an automatic lid stood next to the table, it's silvery chrome finishing contrasting with the soft colors of the room. And in the corner by the window was a rocking chair for her to nurse James and opposite the rocking chair was a small bookshelf. Baby books filled the shelves and on top sat a small collection of stuffed animals. She went over and picked up the little blue elephant she bought years ago and sat down in the rocking chair, running her thumb along the elephant's soft ear.

She bought the elephant after getting back from Russia after Shield fell. It was just sitting there on the shelf in a toy store she wandered into and finding it cute, purchased it. It was meant for a son she (at the time) thought she'll never have and so it went into her box. Along with all the other baby items she had collected ever since Clint pulled her from the Red Room. She had always wanted a boy, so most of the items she had collected now found new homes in the nursery. Yet, she felt wrong… as if she shouldn't be this lucky, as if something will happen to her or Steve or — heaven forbid — James. The Red Room told her she had no place, no future, no past, no present. She was a weapon, a shadow among many. They broke her down, experimented on her, remade her into their perfect weapon. How could a person like her be a good mother?

Last month, word got out to the public that she was pregnant and one of the news anchors accused her of being irresponsible and if she had a decent bone in her body she'd give the baby away to some nice family in the Midwest. Her life was too dangerous, too uncertain to raise a child. Many other anchors and women and "leading experts on child development" (hell even some big-name celebrities weighed in. God, she hated  _The View_  and how they verbally eviscerated her) seconded that opinion, all saying she should have gotten an abortion or give the child up to a safer and more stable family. In the court of public opinion, she was a bad mother, simply because she was Black Widow. She had tentatively brought the idea up to Steve and she had never been so thankful for his quick refusal and reassurance.

"Don't do this to yourself," Clint said, snapping her from her thoughts. She flushed, pressing the elephant close to her chest.

"Where's Steve?" she asked as Clint came in to look at the nursery. "Did we win?"

"You should've seen the look on Ginger's face," he said, squatting down to read the book titles. "The woman looked like she swallowed a lemon. Her husband is a wimp and had the gall to try and give her the trophy, but Tony stepped in and nixed that idea." He stood up and patted her shoulder. "So, congrats on being the best lit house."

"Yippee," she said, rolling her eyes and setting the elephant back on the bookshelf. "Tony and Pepper went home?"

"Uh-huh. Tony took the trophy to fix the engraving. Said he'll bring it back tomorrow." Clint looked her up and down. "Steve's with Laura getting dressed as Santa."

"Oh, right, we were going to open a present after that. Sam still here?" she asked. Clint shook his head. "Ah." She smoothed the nightgown over her belly. "He said he had plans for tomorrow anyway. Spending time with his family."

"Yeah, but you know him. He'll be back."

She nodded, looking around the nursery again and wondering if James will like it, only to chide and remind herself that James will be too little to care. She could've painted the room vomit green and he wouldn't care. "We better head down."

"Are you okay?" Clint asked. She pursed her lips into a frown. "Look, I know Steve asks you that ten times a day, but you kept going on about this stupid competition and you missed it and I find you sitting in here looking about ready to cry." He put a hand on her shoulder. "I know pregnant women can be hormonal and the water works come like lightning bolts, but if something's bothering you Nat, talk to Steve. And if you don't want to tell him then tell me."

"It's nothing Clint. I've just had some… worries," she muttered.

"Natasha."

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

"If it's about what those people said last month—"

"They're still saying it Clint. Everyone knows about my past since Shield fell and they are using that to judge my fitness to be a mother. And I've been worrying about the Red Room finding me and—" she stopped, running a hand through her hair. "What if they're right."

"Well, they're wrong," he said. "They haven't seen you with Lila and Cooper. They don't know that I trust you a hundred and ten percent around my kids. They don't know that I've let you babysit them when Laura and I needed a weekend to ourselves. They don't know 'Auntie Nat'." He put a hand on her shoulder and squeeze. "And that's only with my kids. James is  _your_  son. You're gonna be an excellent mother, Nat."

"But what if the Red Room—"

"Nat, I won't let the Red Room hurt you again, and I know Steve won't let them hurt you either. They aren't going to hurt you, they aren't going to get James. Steve and I won't let that happen. And I'm sure the others will be right there with us in that sentiment. Now, c'mon. Smile. Let's go down and open a present or two before bed. Laura should be done dressing up Steve as Santa."

"Okay," she said and put the little elephant back. "You think he's gonna like it?"

"I think that elephant will be his favorite toy," he said, "c'mon, I don't want Laura yelling for me because Lila and Cooper can't sit still for five minutes." She chuckled following him downstairs to the couch.

Lila and Cooper were trembling with excitement, eyes fixed on Steve who looked awkward in the Santa costume, the pillows noticeable beneath the coat. It didn't help that his pecs and biceps bulged out beneath the costume creating a weird image of a buff Santa trying to be fat. "Next time, dear, let's just go with a buff Santa," Clint whispered to Laura as they sat down. Natasha smiled. Steve's cheeks were pink beneath the fake beard, but whether it was from embarrassment or he was too warm, she couldn't tell. Lila and Cooper kept eyeing the sack he held and shook with their excitement. "I think we're ready Santa," Clint said.

Steve muttered a curse and cleared his throat. "Uh… Ho ho ho, 'tis I! Santa Claus." He went up to Lila and Cooper first. "Ha'e ye been good fer yer mam an' da?" he asked, his words coated with a thick Irish accent. "Cause if ye ha'e been, I got somethin' fer both o' ye."

"I have! I have!" Lila shouted, jumping up and down on the couch. "I've been good, all year!" She glanced at her parents. "I have!"

"Lila, sit down," Laura said. Lila sat, rubbing her hands together in excitement. Steve looked at Cooper.

"What 'bout ye?" he asked. "Ye been good?"

"Yeah," Cooper said, and looked over at his dad. Clint nodded, encouraging him to play along. "I've been real good, Santa."

"Ho ho ho! I think I ha'e somethin' in my sack!" Steve opened the sack dug out two wrapped boxes. "One fer th' lil lass" — he handed Lila her gift, and the little girl ripped the paper with gusto — "and for the wee lad."

"I'm not a 'wee lad'— Ow!" Cooper rubbed his ear, shooting a glare at his father. Clint gave him a look and Cooper accepted the present with a thank you and began to tear at the paper. Lila shrieked so loud that Nat covered her ears in surprise at the noise.

"Mommy! Daddy! It's the Unicorn Princess Doll with her pet unicorn!" Lila shouted, jumping up and down on the couch. She hopped off and hugged Steve. "Thank you, Santa! Thank you!" She ran towards Natasha, but Clint caught her by the middle. "I wanna show Auntie Nat, Daddy."

"Settle down, Lila, remember Auntie Nat's pregnant," Clint said, glancing at her and she rolled her eyes at him as he let Lila go. Lila — grinning like a loon — came over and showed the box with the doll and toy horse.

"Oh wow, it's so pretty and sparkly," she said, taking the box from her niece. "I can see why you got it from Santa. It's really special."

"It is. Do you think I should let James play with it?" Lila asked. She smiled and kissed the little girl on her brow.

"James will have his own toys to play with, so he won't want to play with it." She smiled, smoothing Lila's hair. "Go give this to your dad so he can open it for you."

"Okay!" Lila went back over to her father and handed him the box. Clint sighed and went about getting the doll and toy horse out of the box.

"Whatcha get Cooper?" Natasha asked. Shyly, Cooper showed everyone the box. She arched a brow. "Slime ball dodge ball?" She wondered how that worked and what would happen once the slime balls popped. "Looks fun, you'll have to wait until summer to play."

"Gimme that Cooper, let's make sure this slime is washable first," Laura said, taking the box and reading about the toy. Steve handed Clint to packages, one for him and on for Laura and shuffled over to her. She smiled up at him.

"You really do look like Santa," she said, patting the pillows around the stomach. He chuckled. "Do you have anything for Mrs. Claus?" she asked, tugging the beard down so she could peck his lips without getting fake hair in her mouth. He hummed.

"I'm sure I got something for my best girl in here," he said and reached into the sack. She held her breath, wondering what Steve got her. He tended to shower her with gifts since Christmas was her birthday as well. She complained one year and now he figured out to sprinkle birthday gifts throughout December. He pulled out a mason jar filled with bits of paper and tied with a pretty candy cane pattern ribbon. She took it, arching her brow at the unusual gift.

"Wow, Steve," Clint said, "that's like… Depression era cheap." He poked the jar. "What's in there? Paper?"

"Shut it Barton," Steve said as he pulled the hat and beard off. "Damn it's warm," he said and pulled the pillows out from under the costume. "Next year, you're gonna be Santa." He set the pillows down on the floor and pulled the ottoman over next to her. "Do you like it?" he asked.

"I'm trying to figure out why you gave me a jar filled with paper," she said. He chuckled, a twinkle in his eye. She arched a brow and undid the ribbon, opening the jar. She pulled out the first slip of paper. "I love the way you think you can win on our morning runs." She looked at him. "What is this?" she asked. He gave her an imploring look, so she pulled out another. "I love how you kiss my forehead after—" she stopped flushing. "Steve, what are these?" she asked. She pulled out another. "I love wake up to you every morning."

"A sap jar?" Clint offered. She shot her best friend a glare and pulled out another one, smiling at what it said.

"No," Steve said, sounding hurt and a bit offended. "Fifty-two reasons why I love Nat. I wanted to get her something special this year because she's pregnant and… found this on the internet." He looked at his knees. "Thought it was nice. She could read them when she's feeling down."

"So… a sap jar."

"Clint," Laura hissed. "I think it's very sweet Steve. What about you, Nat?"

She didn't answer, holding the latest piece of paper:  _I love you just the way you are, damaged and perfect._  Tears pricked at her eyes and her lip quivered. Damn pregnancy hormones. She took the bits of paper and shoved them back into the jar, twisting the lid on tight. "Thank you, Steve," she said, trying to keep her voice from breaking. She reached for him and he hugged her. She buried her face in his neck, sniffling. "This is the best Christmas gift I've ever gotten… thank you."

"You're welcome," he said and kissed her brow. "Merry Christmas, Nat" — he pulled away and gave her a boyish grin — "and Happy Day Before Your Birthday and Happy Anniversary."

"Oh right!" she laughed. "I forgot it was our anniversary." She watched him thumb her wedding ring. "Four years, huh."

"And going on strong." He winked, his hand going to her belly. Clint cleared his throat.

"I think it's getting late. Cooper, Lila, bed time. Hey, where's Bucky?" Clint asked. "Haven't seen him since the award thing."

"He went to bed," Steve said. "Christmas still… it's hard for him." He looked down and she knew he worried about his friend. Bucky had said that Fury was able to get most of the Hydra brainwashing out of his head but feared there could be lingers of it that they weren't aware of; so, Bucky withdrew whenever anything hit too close to the life he used to live. "Don't worry. I'll check on him. He'll be down for presents in the morning."

"Alright," Clint said, following Laura as they herded their children downstairs. "Night guys, see you in the morning." He turned off the lights on his way down to the Den.

"Night," she and Steve called. She looked at Steve as he sat down. He had that world-weary look on his face. She took his hand and kissed his palm. They sat there, in the soft glow of the Christmas tree and Christmas village, content in each other's presence. His large hand next to her smaller one on her belly, smiling whenever they felt their son move.

A door creaked, and they could hear soft footsteps coming their way. "Steve?" Bucky came out in his t-shirt and boxers, the lights gleaming off his metal arm. She and Steve looked over at Bucky.

"Hey Buck," Steve said. "Missed you for the Santa thing." Bucky gave a weird smile and sat down in front of them. "How you doing?"

"First Christmas I don't have a mission," he said, "feels weird." He smiled though. "Last time, I saw you get married."

"Yeah," Steve said, sounding wistful. He reached over and squeezed Bucky's shoulder. "Good to have you back, pal, wouldn't be Christmas without you."

"Thanks," Bucky said. "You know, I'm happy for both you and Natalia. Real happy. I never thought you'd have this Steve but… you do and both of you will make swell parents, and I'm honored that you decided to name your kid after me." Bucky wiped at his eyes. "Damn. Hate cryin' when I'm happy."

She laughed, wiping at her own eyes. "We're happy your home Bucky. Apart of our family," she said. Bucky nodded and pulled them both into a hug. "Just wait, you'll be holding your nephew soon enough." She said, putting his hand on her belly. "We all will."

"Merry Christmas, guys," Bucky said.

* * *

_March 9_ _th_ _, 2020_

Natasha was glad she had a schedule C-section because she didn't think she could stand to wait until she went into labour. She felt like a beached whale. She couldn't see her toes, her back and ankles hurt her something fierce every day (no matter how long Steve gave her a massage). She felt like she had to pee every five minutes and she no longer walked, she waddled — like a damn penguin — around their suite in the Tower. They moved into the Tower after New Year — Sam agreed to house sit or them — and would stay at the Tower until she healed. True to his word, Steve did call Maria Hill and got Henry relocated to some tiny town in the Midwest. Sam had called her one day in February to gleefully tell her how Ginger was moving and complaining about it. She cackled in delight at the other woman's misery. Steve had looked at her funny, but she didn't care: she was Black Widow, she could be vindictive as hell if she wanted to be.

Besides her body becoming more and more alien to her, the last few months of her pregnancy flew by like a summer breeze. And she had no reason to expect that today wouldn't be simple either. Bruce had called around seven in the morning to inform them that the Tower's operating room was prepped and ready, he and a team of handpicked surgeons were ready and waiting. She just needed to get up two floors, get prepped, get the local anesthesia and have her baby.

Only problem with this easy plan was her husband. Steve was running around their room like a chicken without its head. "Where are my keys?" he said, flustered; anxious and excited. She was too, but she was Black Widow, so she hid it better than him. "Nat, have you seen my keys?" he asked, holding his keys, as he scratched his head. "I can't find my keys and I swore I just had them in my hand."

"Steve, forget the damn keys, we're not going to the hospital. The medical wing is all prepped. We just need to go up two floors," she said. She patted her belly, smiling when James gave her a little kick. He hadn't been terribly active today, as if he knew what was happening.

"But I can't find my keys!" he said, as if she didn't understand the problem. She rolled her eyes. "Natasha."

"Look, can we have this baby, preferably today?" she asked. "We can find your keys after I deliver." The door sighed open behind her. She turned to see Bucky, looking confused.

"What's the hold up?" he asked. "Bruce is ready for Natalia."

"I can't find my keys, Buck. Have you seen them?" Steve asked. She groaned, leaving the room and waddling to the elevator.

"They're in your hand Steve, but you don't need your keys," she heard Bucky say as she jabbed her thumb on the up arrow. She was so ready to hold her son. She smiled when Steve made a happy sound and as the elevator doors open he and Bucky joined her.

"Found my keys," he said, she rolled her eyes. "I was holding them the entire time."

"Wow, you really must be an old man. To not even remember you were holding your own keys," she said, not trying to hide the snark in her voice. She leaned against him anyway.

"I'm just… jittery," he mumbled. "I'm gonna be dad."

"You just now realized that?" she asked, unable to hold back her teasing. He grumped, kissing her temple, she huffed, but a smile spread across her face as the elevator doors opened. "You ready?" she asked him.

"Let's do this," he said, a wide grin on his face. Bucky chuckled as Bruce came over and lead them to the prep room. She changed into a hospital gown and Steve lifted her up onto the bed and pulled her hair back into the hospital cap. "Everything's gonna be okay," he said, squeezing her hand. "All be over soon."

"Right," she said, wincing a little as Bruce gave her the local anesthesia. It was a weird feeling as all sensation was deaden from her waist down. She couldn't even feel James move. She swallowed, fear creeping up her spine with the lack of the primal connection between her and her son. "Everything will be okay."

"Steve, go with Betty and she'll get you prepped to go in," Bruce said. She whimpered when Steve let go of her hand. Panic rose up in her chest and she bit her lip, trying to remain calm. "Don't worry, Tasha," Bruce said, pushing the hospital bed through the doors and into the operating room. "I'm right here. Steve's gonna be back soon. Once he's here, we'll get this show on the road, huh?" he said as the rest of the nurses and technicians hooked her up to more machines that beeped every so often. Bruce did a last-minute check on James' vitals, declared them good. "Tasha, I'm pinching your toe, can you feel that?"

"No," she said, trying to maintain some sense of control. This reminded her of the Red Room, how they sterilized her. "No, I can't Bruce. Where's Steve?" she asked. It shouldn't be taking him this long. He just had to put on a cap and gown, right? Maybe scrub his hands and put some latex gloves on. "I want Steve."

"He'll be here in a minute," he said as a pair of nurses rolled up her gown to her breasts. It was weird seeing her round belly but unable to feel it. They placed a barrier around her belly, cinching it in close. She whimpered, the bad memories encroaching too fast, she wanted to bolt, but she couldn't feel her legs, couldn't escape. The doors open.

This was it, she was sure. The part where the Red Room revealed itself to her and took her baby away. She squeezed her eyes shut, a few tears escaped. "Hey, honey, no need to cry," Steve said, "unless those are happy tears."

She opened her eyes when he felt his gentle touch on her cheek. "Steve," she whispered, and he nodded, holding her hand. "It's really you?"

"Yeah. It's really me. Ready?" he asked. She nodded, and he gave a thumb's up to Bruce. She smiled at Steve. "You gonna be okay," he said.

"Yeah, I just… I'm just… scared," she whispered, while Bruce and Betty and the other doctors muttered to themselves as they talked about the best way to cut her open. "It reminds me of what the Red Room… did to me."

"Well this is far from what they did." Steve nuzzled her nose. "We're gonna hold our son in a few minutes." He grinned. "So, think about that. Think about holding James."

"Okay," she said, tears in her voice as she made herself focus on Steve's blue eyes and ignore the muttering of the doctors. Steve stroked her cheek and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. "Can you sing to me? Softly."

"Sure," he said, and sang to her an Irish folk song his mother always sang to him whenever he got scared. She relaxed, the low rumble of his voice soothing, she closed her eyes. A sharp cry broke him off and he sat up straighter, as Bruce held their squalling son. "Nat…" he breathed. She opened her eyes to see tears rolling down his cheeks. "He's beautiful."

"Lemme see," she said, pushing herself up onto her elbows to look at her son. Never had she felt such love. Pink and slimy, his fine red hair matted to his small head, James cried, wriggling his tiny arms and legs. "James," she whispered.

"Steve, wanna cut the cord?" Bruce asked. Steve paled, but nodded, standing up and letting a nurse put some latex gloves on so he could cut the umbilical cord. Betty clamped it as soon as Steve finished and wrapped a blanket around James before setting the squalling newborn on her chest. Natasha wrapped her arms around her baby.

"Hi, baby," she whispered, watching as James settle down. "I love you." She nuzzled her son, kissing his brand-new skin. "So much, Mama loves you, James." She smiled up at Steve, who put his hand on James' tiny back. "He's here."

He kissed her. "We did it Nat," Steve said, "we have baby."

She smiled, stroking James' small hand. "Yeah, we do. Our baby, our little James Rogers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave this chapter without having James be born.
> 
> All medical mistakes are my own.
> 
> Thanks to toonanimals for the jar idea.
> 
> Thanks to beckyg10 for the idea that Steve is so flustered that he forgets he's holding his keys.
> 
> Next chapter is the last one. ^o^
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.
> 
> MCU (c) Marvel Studios


	7. The Seventh Christmas - 2020

It had been an exhausting year, with James being born and learning how to readjust to life with a child. Bruce had stressed she and Steve were heading into uncharted territory as nobody had ever assumed Steve would have a child (or if it was possible for him to have a child) or if said child would inherit the super soldier serum.

James inherited the super soldier serum alright, at least as far as Bruce could deduce from his genes. She knew her son did because he ate like a horse (she had to supplement her breastmilk with formula and by God, James hated formula. It was a relief when Bruce said they could introduce solid foods to him around three or four months). He was also strong for an infant, and as he grew he got stronger. All the milestones for infant development James met early or exceeded for his age group. Bruce said not to worry, as long as James was happy and healthy, everything was good.

So, they didn't. It was difficult when Steve's paternity leave was up, and he went back to saving the world. It was worse, when they cut her maternity leave short, and Steve was home alone with James. The worse was when she and Steve both left, Laura or Pepper babysitting James until they got back. She hated being away from her son. On solo missions she could push aside her worry and focus, when she went on missions with Steve it seemed they fed off each other, until her gut was a knot of worry and it took her some time to get her head in the game and focus. Steve was better at it than she was; life had been different ever since they got married. Sometimes she still thinks Tony finds it hard to believe that two of his teammates are married.

But none of that mattered now. It was Christmas, her husband and son were both happy and healthy, the future looked bright for everyone. Natasha sighed as she inhaled the sharp fresh scent of coffee as she poured herself a cup. Bruce had said that it was okay to have a cup of coffee in the morning, and it was so nice after abstaining from coffee during her pregnancy. After adding milk and sugar she took a sip, sighing and enjoying the quiet morning. Steve hadn't gone on his morning run (he had switched to going in the afternoon when James napped; they even bought a treadmill, Tony had to modify it so Steve could actually use it effectively), so the kitchen was hers until he got up. The house was aglow with their Christmas decorations, the only thing missing was the tree, which they planned to get later (once Bucky came with his truck). She looked at her phone, frowning at her news feed and sipped her coffee. James would be up soon; her breasts started to tingle.

Finishing her coffee in a few scalding gulps, she went upstairs and into the nursey just as James began to whimper. She turned her phone on, hitting the camera button and then the record button, James looked around, sucking on his lip and letting out little whimpers. She smiled. "Good morning Jamie, welcome to your first Christmas. Dada and I have so much fun things planned for you," she cooed into the phone as she walked towards James, who was standing in his crib. "Are you ready for Christmas?" she asked. James squawked, and she looked at the door, Steve was still asleep. "You're hungry aren't you little guy?" she paused the video and turned her phone off. "Let's get you changed and fed and then we can wake up Dada? How does that sound."

James cooed as she picked him up out of his crib and went to the changing table for a fresh diaper. She smiled, babbling to him in Russian as she changed his diaper and tickled his tummy, imaging James being fascinated by the bright paper of the presents and the fun of ripping into them for the first time. Christmas felt different than it had in years past; warmer and brighter, full of love. James looked at her, his tiny hands holding onto his little toes as she wiggled the fresh diaper beneath him and secured it. He giggled when she lifted him up, stomping his tiny feet on the changing table. "Well you're all clean for Santa," she said, nuzzling his nose. There had never been a sweeter sound in her life than the giggle of her son. "Let's get you fed then we can wake up Dada." She scooped James up and settled herself in the rocking chair, tucking him close to her chest, she pushed her sleep top up and he latched on. She sighed in relief as he nursed.

As he nursed, she checked him; her fingers running over his small back and legs and arms. Feeling his joints and counting his fingers and toes, softly singing: "Баю-баюшки-баю, не ложися на краю. Придёт сереньки волчок и ухватит за бочок. Он ухватит за бочок и потащит во лесок, и потащит во лесок…" In the distant haze of her memories, she could remember her grandmother's reedy voice singing her this song. Steve said there was an eeriness to the song, reminding him of winter and snow. It was during these private moments with her son that she spoke to him in Russian, teaching him her mother tongue sound by sound and the stories she half-remembered from her life before the Red Room.

James pulled away, looking at her with bright blue eyes (the same shade as his father's). "All done?" she asked, placing her hand flat on his tummy. He grinned, showing off his little gums, Bruce said he'll be teething soon but so far she had seen no evidence of it. She nuzzled his cheek, drinking in the scent of milk and baby. She placed him on her shoulder and patted his back until he gave a little burp. He cooed, wiggling his arms and legs. "Let's go say good morning to Dada, hm?" she kissed his round cheek, stood up and grabbed his little plush elephant from his crib. "Here baby," she said, handing it to him. He blinked and took it, sticking the trunk in his mouth as she fished her phone out of her pocket. She brought back the phone, turning the video back on. She switched the camera to her face. "Now that we are all clean and fed, we're gonna wake up Dada, right Jamie?" she asked, kissing her son as she left the nursing and entered her bedroom. James gave the camera a shy smile, hiding behind the ear of his elephant. With another tap she turned the camera back around and paused for a moment, letting the camera capture good video of Steve asleep. Her husband was cuddling her pillow, a light dusting of scruff on his chin and cheeks, his hair mused from sleep. He looked so peaceful, as if he didn't have the world's burdens on his shoulders. James got squirmy when he saw his father. Grinning, she walked over to their bed, sat down and let James crawl over to Steve.

James gurgled, tucking himself close to his father. "Is that Dada?" she asked, smiling as this was all caught on video. James nodded, sticking a finger in his mouth to gum it. "Why don't you wake him up." She put her hand on Steve's side and gave him a light shake. "Say, wake up Dada."

Steve gave a soft groan, cuddling the pillow. James looked at his mother, a mischievous grin on his face. "Dada!" he shouted, slapping Steve's face with both hands, laughing as Steve jerked awake. "Dada!" James shouted again and tried to slap Steve's face, but he caught James' tiny little wrists.

"Good morning," he said around a yawn and rolled onto his back. He placed James on his chest and bounced him. "Good morning." He grinned. "Merry Christmas, James!" he pushed up James' little onesie and blew a raspberry on his tummy. James squealed, a big grin on his face.

"Merry Christmas, Steve," she said, leaning over and kissing him. She nuzzled his nose. "Happy anniversary."

"Merry anniversary," he mumbled against her lips, stealing another kiss. He turned back to James. "And you," he said, tickling James' tummy. "How are you? Are you ready for Christmas?" he cooed. "Ready for Santa?" He bounced James again. She laughed, recording everything on her phone. Steve was quick to devolve into nonsense baby babble, James giggling and trying to grab his lips and nose. There was a lightness to her husband that she never seen before, and something Bucky said he only saw rarely back before the ice. James was an endless source of joy for them.

"Are you sure you want to be acting like this Steve? James'll see this when he's older," she said, capturing the entire thing on video. "He's going to wonder why his dad is such a dork."

"I'm not a dork," he said. "Am I a dork, Jamie? Am I? I'm not a dork," he cooed, making fishy faces at James. James just giggled and clapped, enjoying the attention. "And why are you recording all this?"

"One part blackmail, one part to capture James' first Christmas in real time," she said, grinning a little. She scooted closer to Steve and James, flipping the camera around the get a good family shot. "Our first Christmas as a family," she said, kissing Steve's cheek. James cooed, reaching for the phone. "No, baby, you can't have this," she said, pulling away. James whimpered, upset that his mother denied him something.

"Oh, no," Steve said, scooping him up and getting out of bed. He tossed James into the air and caught him. Whenever he did that her heart went into her throat, but she knew Steve would never let anything happen to their son. James squealed, his vexation at being denied her phone completely forgotten as Steve tossed him into the air. "No. No crying on Christmas," he said, cuddling James close and smothering his tiny face in kisses. "Nope, not allowed in this house, and that's a fact, Mama got it on video." He gave her a wink. "I think it's time for some breakfast."

"Snowflake pancakes?" she asked.

"Snowflake pancakes," he agreed, putting James on his shoulders. James giggled, and she handed Steve the elephant, which he gave to James. "To the kitchen," he said and started humming the Army theme song. She laughed, following them downstairs, recording the entire thing.

"You know, I may have to show Tony this, he'll find it funny."

"You do, and I'll never speak to you again," he said. James squealed, smashing his toy elephant on Steve's head. Laughing, she followed her family into the kitchen, Steve keeping a running commentary on all the fun Christmas things they had planned for James, and James gurgling in delight about it all without understanding any of it. "Alright, Mama, time to switch, Dada needs to make the pancakes," he said, taking James off his shoulders. She smiled, looping her arm around James' little waist and settling him on her hip. James reached for her phone again.

"No, baby," she said, "this is Mama's. You have your elephant." She jostled him a little, but James wasn't deterred, reaching for her phone again. "James, no." She looked around for his high chair. "C'mon, let's see if you won't eat a little something," she said as she walked over to his high chair and set him in it. She turned her phone off and placed it on the table. James whined, reaching for it. "James, work with Mama here." James ignored his mother, wriggling in her grasp as he tried to get her phone, dropping his elephant in the process. "James Clinton—" she got his bottom in the seat and snapped the straps and the tray into place. James blinked, confused by his sudden lack of mobility. He tried to stand up and push himself forward and she heard the telltale sound of thread snapping. Steve did too.

"Everything okay?" he asked, holding the electric hand whisk. "Nat?"

"He just wants my phone," she said, rushing to grab the jar of baby food and the rubber capped spoon. "And he's upset he's not getting it." She looked at James, who had scrunched up his little face in concentration, little hand reaching for her phone. "James," she growled, sitting down and scooting his high chair closer to her. "Look what Mama has! It's yummies!" she pushed the spoon towards his mouth, but he turned away, an orange glob of peach puree on his cheek. He tried again, reaching for her phone and more thread snapped. "Jamie," she cooed, trying again. "Look it's Iron Man!" she said, weaving the spoon up and down to get him interested it. James cooed, little mouth open in wonder.

Her phone buzzed, and James turned his head to look at it. More baby food smeared on his cheek. James giggled and resumed his quest for her phone. "James, look at Mama," she said, trying again. This time, Steve starting up the electric hand whisk drew James attention and he got baby food on his other cheek. "Черт." Sighing, she looked at Steve. "Can you help me? He's not eating."

"Jamie," Steve said, setting the electric hand whisk down. "You need to eat for Mama." He opened the fridge and pulled out a can of whipped cream and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard. He spritzed some whipped cream in the bowl and then took the spoon she was using and plopped two globs of baby food into it and mixed it up. "Here Jamie, Dada made you an extra special yummy, since it's Christmas!" he set it before James, took his hand and dipped one finger in it and wrangled that little finger into their son's tiny mouth. "Mmmmm, yummy huh?"

Natasha laughed, catching half of it on her phone. "He's not eating it Steve," she said. He arched a brow, smirking. "Don't look so smug, he's not eat" — James dipped his finger back into the whipped cream and baby food mixture — "I hate you," she grumbled, as James realized that it tasted good and was dipping all his fingers into the mixture to suck off the baby food and whipped cream mixture. Steve laughed and kissed her.

"Love you too, honey," he said and went back to making pancakes. "I'll leave the whipped cream out, so you can make more when he finishes."

"Do you really think this is good? He's only seven months old?" she grabbed the can of whipped cream, reading the ingredients. She went to the specialty store to buy James' baby food, the ingredients were simple: peaches, potato starch and water. The whipped cream had cream, sugar, and a slew of things she couldn't pronounce.

"It's fine, Nat," Steve said, his voice raised to be heard over the electric hand whisk. "The serum will metabolize anything before it can do any real harm. And if you're that worried, I bought heavy cream, so I can make a batch of real whipped cream."

"I just don't want him to get sick," she said, watching James finish off the peaches and cream concoction. She thumbed through the google search on her phone until he was done. She took a napkin, blotting it on her tongue before wiping away the smears of peach puree from his face. James squirmed, unhappy that he was getting his face cleaned. "Baby, hold still. You don't want to be dirty for Santa." She knew reasoning with him was futile; James was too young to understand reasoning. Still, she said it and manhandled her squirming son until his face was clean. "There, all better." She smiled as she stood up, collecting his bowl and kissed his head. She set it in the sink and watched Steve ladle the batter into a squeeze bottle. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Sure do," he said, twisting the cap on and giving the bottle a good shake. "Saw how to do it on the internet." He grinned and went over to the hot griddle.

"Just don't burn down my house," she said as she opened the freezer and pulled out James' teething ring. The teething ring had the faces of the Avengers on the bubble parts and she wondered if they bought everything Avengers theme or if their friends did it as some crude joke. Pushing the freezer close with her foot she went back to James and handed him the teething ring which promptly went into his mouth. "Nice and cold huh?" she asked, smoothing James' fine red hair. James looked at her with big blue eyes, a cute little smile on his face as he sucked on the ring. He wasn't getting fussy yet, but she did feel the teeth nubs. Being preemptive never hurt anyone (unless you ask Steve about winning wars before they start).

The front door opened, and she stood up, trying to angle herself between the potential threat and James. Even though she knew she was being illogical, seeing as only their closets friends (Clint, Bucky and Tony) had a key to their house; still, her training as a spy and assassin was hard to shake and motherhood only served to increase her paranoia. "Steve? Nat?" Bucky called, as the door closed. She relaxed, sitting back down again, just as Steve came over with a plate of snowflake pancakes.

"In the kitchen, Buck," Steve called, and Bucky appeared a moment later, wearing black jeans and a horrid Christmas sweater: it had the red star of communist Russia atop a Christmas tree with little gun ornaments. "Oh… jeez." Steve gave his friend a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry Bucky."

"It sings," Bucky grumbled. He held up two lumpy packages. "Gifts from Stark. Mandatory wear tonight, otherwise and I quote 'you will be labeled a scrooge and no longer welcomed at his Christmas party'." He tossed them to her and she caught them. "Pancakes smell good, Steve." He took the plate Steve was holding. "Got any syrup?" Bucky asked as he spritzed whipped cream on his pancakes.

"I'll uh… go make some more." Steve went back to cooking as she unwrapped the two sweaters. She groaned at the sight. "Nat?"

"They're matching Steve." She held one up. The image was his shield, but the star was replaced with her red Widow hourglass, little LED lights outlined everything. Thankfully, there was a button to turn on just the lights, and her shoulders slumped when they flashed. James looked up and cooed, reaching for the sweater, fascinated by the flashing lights. "No, baby," she said, turning the lights off and rolling up the sweater. "Not for you. For Mama and Dada." She wiggled his teething ring which he held in his other hand. "This is for you." James blinked, cooing when he saw the ring and went back to sucking on it.

"Don't celebrate just yet Natalia," Bucky grumbled and pulled out another smaller lumpy package. "Here you go James." He set the small package on James' high chair tray. James, squealed, dropping his teething ring on the ground (Natasha grumbled as she picked it up) and tugged at the paper. He froze when it ripped and after a few seconds, decided he liked that ripping sound and pulled at it more, giggling all the while until he revealed his own horrid Christmas sweater.

"Steve." Natasha picked up the sweater as she handed James back his teething ring (which he promptly dropped on the floor again, more interested in his sweater) and held up the sweater. It didn't have flashy lights, but it was the same pattern on it and small enough for a seven-month-old. "Steve," she said again, and this time he turned and looked, shoulders slumping.

"Uh… I guess we can tell Tony thank you?" he turned back to the griddle to flip the pancakes.

"He's not wearing this," she said, bunching up the sweater and setting it on top of the adult sized ones, James whined in protest. She bent over and picked up his teething ring. "Here Jamie, this is for you." She set it on his tray. James screamed, throwing the teething ring across the kitchen and smacking his tray hard enough she was afraid he'd snap it in half. "James, stop it. It's not a toy," she said, bending over and scooping up his elephant. "Look, Jamie! It's Peanut, you love your Peanut." She handed the elephant over to her son, but James wanted the sweater and promptly threw his elephant across the room.

"Nat, what's wrong?" Steve asked, coming over with another plate of pancakes. He set it in front of Bucky as she scooped James out of his chair. "Is he teething?" He ran his thumb along James' gums.

"Rub some whiskey on his gums," Bucky said, "Steve, you got syrup?" Steve nodded, and grabbed the syrup, handing it over. "Thanks. That's what my ma did when I was a baby and with my sisters. Rub some whiskey on his gums, put 'im right to sleep." He drowned his pancakes in syrup before digging in. "These are good Steve."

"Thanks." He put a hand on his son's tiny head. "It won't hurt him Nat. My mam did the same with me."

"I think every mother did back then," Bucky said around a mouthful of pancake.

"I'm not rubbing whiskey on his gums," she said. "I don't think it's his teeth. I think he's just cranky he's not getting his way. I wouldn't let him have my phone, and now I won't let him have the stupid sweater."

"Do you want me to take him?" Steve asked. "I don't mind—"

"No, you need to finish making the pancakes, I'll walk him around," she said, kissing James' cheek as he screamed in her ear. She winced and started walking around, starting in the kitchen and heading to the living room. The Christmas decorations drew his attention. The stationary ones held it for a few moments, before he started to get fussy again. "No, James," she whispered and pinched the paw of a fluffy reindeer with bells on its antlers.  _Jingle Bell Rock_  began to play, the bouncing reindeer, the jingle of its bells and the song amused James, whatever was upsetting him forgotten. The chorus ended, and James squirmed. "Okay, okay," she said and pressed it again, James giggling in delight. She sat on the couch, near the decoration, pressing it whenever the song ended. James reached for the antlers, fascinated by the bells. "No, baby, don't put that in your mouth, you'll break it."

"Nat, pancakes," Steve called.

"Alright," she said, standing up. James protested, reaching for the reindeer. "No, sweetheart, it's time to be good now and sit while Mama eats her pancakes." James whimpered, not caring about his mother or her desires. Bucky came over.

"I can take him," he said, "also found this on the floor by the couch." He held up the elephant. James squealed, reaching for his elephant. "Gimme him, we'll play fun games, go eat."

"It's fine Bucky, I got it, really."

"Nah." He scooped James from her arms. "I got him." James giggled, attention on Bucky's metal arm, fascinated by his reflection though not comprehending it was him. Bucky smiled at that, ruffling James' hair as he sat down on the couch and turned on the tv. The news anchor was talking about the Christmas events (specifically Tony's Christmas party) and what the Avengers will be doing for the holidays.

"I don't care Maggie," the guest on the program said, "about what Tony Stark is doing for the holidays. What I care about is James Rogers being in the care of Black Widow." Natasha froze, staring at the tv and the jowly woman on the tv.

"Well, he is her son," the anchor said.

"A son she should never been allowed to have. I don't know if you read the Shield files about her — I did — but she's killed children Maggie.  _Children_ , yet we let this woman have her own? What's to say she won't smother him in his sleep and say its SIDS?" The guest leaned in closer; Natasha looked at her feet, clenching her trembling hands. "Mothers have done that short of shit all the time. This woman is a trained killer and yet people think it's perfectly fine for her to get married and have a kid?"

"Her husband is Captain America—"

"Exactly, we don't need a national symbol — a national  _hero_ , being caught up in that sort—"

"Hey, Buck, see if there's a Christmas movie on the Hallmark Channel," Steve said. She looked over her shoulder, giving him a wane smile as Bucky changed the channel and found a Christmas movie. "C'mon," he said, and she headed back to the table and staring at the snowflake pancakes. James giggled, slapping Bucky's metal arm; she smiled, glad Bucky found some measure of peace with that arm and it was all thanks to James. Of course, it seemed some members of the public only saw her as evil, unworthy of having a child of her own.  _You have no place in this world_.

"Nat, eat," Steve said, coming over with the last of the pancakes. He sat down and drowned his pancakes in syrup and then covered them in whipped cream. He nudged her. "Nat."

"Oh?" she jerked herself out of her musings and poured some syrup over her pancakes and added some whipped cream. "These are good," she said, after taking a bite; she smiled.

"You're a good mom," he said, rubbing her back. "Don't beat yourself up over it. Sometimes babies need to see a new face for a while." He rubbed his hand down her back. "And don't let what that lady said get to you. They've been saying it since your pregnancy got leaked. You deserve this Natasha. You're worthy of being James' mother and my wife." He kissed her temple. "I love you."

"You know," Bucky called from the couch. "Stark's party is at seven and if you guys want to make it on time, and still do some fun Christmas things, like gingerbread houses and getting the tree, we better leave within the hour."

"He's right," she said, smiling. "We gotta get going."

"Eat up." Steve smiled and dug into his pancakes.

* * *

The drive to the tree farm didn't take long and she was able to keep James awake the entire way. It helped that Steve kept twisting around in the front passenger seat to tickle James' tummy whenever Bucky was at a stop light. James squealed, trying to grab his father's fingers and giving everyone a large gummy smile. Away from everything, she was able to forget about that woman and her anxiety of being a new mother.

Steve and Bucky got out first, while she stayed behind to manhandle James into tiny little gloves and boots, complete with a tiny little jacket and wool cap. He was having none of it, whining and squirming the entire time she tried to get everything on him. Sometimes she'd glance up to see Bucky and Steve talking, waiting for her to get out with James. She got the hat on his head, tying the string beneath his chin. A whimper escaped him, and he pawed at the string, giving her a pleading look. "No, Jamie, it's cold and this'll help keep your earsies warm," she said, kissing his nose. He sneezed, the action surprising him. The door opened.

"Nat, you done?" Steve asked, grabbing the bulky diaper bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Hey, buddy, ready to get your first tree?" Steve asked, placing his hand on James' torso. It amazed her how small her son was compared to her husband, that her husband's entire hand could cover her son's tiny body. James shrieked in excitement, his discomfort with the winter gear forgotten. "Yeah, betcha are." Steve released the buckle and wiggled it over James' head. She scooped James up and opened the other door. Bucky's hand grasped her elbow as she got down from the truck; grumbling about how they made trucks so fucking high and how this was discrimination against short people. Bucky chuckled, closing the door and locking the truck. "Everyone ready?" Steve asked, zipping up his jacket. It was the leather one she got him for Christmas years ago, that said Howling Commandos on the back with his shield and the names of those he served with. He even wore a hat commemorating his service as a WWII veteran, Sam got it for him. She cheekily bought one for Bucky, and it surprised her that he even wore it (or that both were wearing the hats today).

"You remember where the tree is?" Bucky asked as they started walking towards the farm. A few other families were also there, getting a tree last minute. Steve and Bucky had already selected their tree, they were just here to cut it down.

"Yup." Steve took the lead, his strong legs, plowing through the deep snow drifts and making a path for them until they reached the plowed pathway. She fished out her phone and started recording.

"This is your first Christmas tree, Jamie," she said, setting the camera to selfie mode. "And it's even snowing, how exciting!" she watched as James tried to grab the snowflakes, his tiny face scrunched up in concentration. He opened his hand, making a surprised sound when there was no snowflake within. "You can't catch them with your hand James. Catch them with your tongue" — she stopped and opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out. A few snowflakes landed on her tongue. — "like that baby." She giggled, fond memories of her childhood in Russia coming back. James didn't really get it, trying to bite the snowflakes out of the air, but she laughed, and he grinned.

"You two seem to be having fun," Steve said when she finally caught up to him and Bucky. They stood beneath the overhang, waiting for the tractor with the hay ride. Steve chuckled, watching James trying to eat the snowflakes.

"Care to say something for the camera, Dad?" she asked, turning the camera back into picture mode and zooming in on his face. His ears turned pink (and it wasn't from the cold).

"Nat are you going to record everything?"

"Today and tomorrow, yep. To celebrate James' first Christmas." She nudged him. "Go on say something for him to remember."

Steve sighed. "Alright," he grumbled. "James, your mother used to never be one for collecting memories. Ever since you were born — no, ever since she found she was pregnant with you — I never seen a woman take faster to scrap-booking than your mother. I'm sorry for this buddy, for all the pictures of every embarrassing moment in your life being shown to you future girlfriend."

"Steve, say something nice. This is James' first Christmas."

"Mommy and I love you James," he said. "There, that's nice." She groaned, rolling her eyes. "What it is!"

"Maybe I should be the camera guy, while you two do cutesy new parents stuff with James?" Bucky asked, as the tractor came rumbling down the path. James cooed, eyes growing wide at the sight of the tractor. She handed her phone over to Bucky.

"Just for the hay ride, I want it back when we reach the top," she said, following Steve onto the hay filled trailer. Bucky gave a nod, filming as he walked. She snuggled up against Steve, and positioned James at the railing, placing his tiny feet between the planks. Steve put his hand on James' back, next to hers.

"You got snow in your hair," he said; she smiled, shaking her head to dislodge the snow. The sound of his laughter warmed her heart. "Don't get it all over me!" It was a wintry day, perfect for Christmas tree hunting, with snow falling from the grey sky. The other families crowded in too, though it wasn't that many, and the tractor was soon rumbling up the hill, the smoke stack coughing out thick black plumes of exhaust. She covered James' nose and mouth whenever the wind pushed the noxious fumes towards them.

"You know," Bucky said, from Steve's side, "I got a story for James. It's a good one and a Christmas story."

"Buck, no," Steve said. "He has plenty of Christmas stories."

"What is it Bucky?" she asked, curious now — especially since Steve didn't want Bucky to share it. "I wanna hear it." James gurgled, still trying to bite the snow.

"Okay, so it was Christmas of '23, so Steve was five and I was six. Our church was putting on a meeting with Santa event and Steve here was super excited because —"

"Bucky,  _please!_ " Steve whined.

"— he wholeheartedly believed in Santa. Even though he knew the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy weren't real. Santa was. So, our mas bundle us up and schlep us off to the church. We wait in line to get a chance on Santa's lap. Steve's vibrating with excitement because his ma never took him to department stores during the holidays since it was expensive she couldn't afford it. I went before him, told Santa what I wanted and then went to my ma. Steve here is so excited he's about ready to piss himself—"

"Bucky!" Steve's ears turned pink an she giggled, nuzzling James' little head as he continued — unsuccessfully — to eat the snowflakes.

"— so he gets on Santa's lap and starts rambling off what he wants for Christmas: Tinker Construction kit, crayons, Morse code telegraph learning set, his ma to be happy and for his da to come home." Bucky sighed at the last one, and she looked at Steve, who's gaze was fixed firmly on the scenery. "Well, my da said he'll see what he could do about getting the list to the elves. And as soon as Steve heard my da's voice he flipped. Started crying and making a fuss and yanked the fake beard off. The priest came running with Steve's ma and he flat out refused to go to her, called her a liar. She took him aside anyway and explained to him that my da was one of Santa's helpers and that Santa was still real. I don't think Steve believed her though."

"Thanks for that Buck," Steve grumbled. "Didn't need to remember how that ruined my Christmas that year."

"It's not so bad Steve," she said. "It's kinda cute."

"Whatever," he grumbled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. She picked up James, settling him on her hip. He was calm, looking around, the snowflakes no longer amusing. The tractor reached the top of the hill and they got off, Bucky grabbed a saw and Steve lead the way to the tree. She took her phone back.

"This is your first tree, James," she said, once they reached it. "Isn't it beautiful?" she kissed his cheek and he grinned. "It's a nice tree guys."

"Of course, it is, Steve picked it out," Bucky said as he got down on his side to start cutting it. She set James between her feet, smiling as he cooed at the snow. "He has a thing about Christmas trees. Always did."

"No more stories," Steve groused, as Bucky started sawing. "Think we had enough outta you for today."

"Hey, go parent your own kid," Bucky said. She laughed, filming everything. Every now and then she wiped away the snowflakes from the screen and licked her lips to keep them moist (she regretted not putting on chapstick). James was quiet at her feet. "I'm almost done," Bucky said.

"Nat," Steve said. "Nat, he's eating snow."

"Huh?" she looked down at James, who had a small mound of snow in his hand. "Don't eat that baby." She stooped, brushing it out of his tiny hand. She went back to filming. "Is it hard work?"

"Uh-huh. Can't move my arm enough," Bucky grumbled. "Almost got it. Steve don't let go."

"I wo— James don't eat that!" Steve let go the tree, and in one great big stride, closed the gap between him and James, scooping him up and knocking the snow out of his hand. "Don't eat snow, buddy. Nat, I told you he was trying to eat snow."

"I knocked it out of his hand and—" she broke off when the tree fell on top of Bucky. "Better go get your friend." She took their son from him. "Don't worry Bucky, I got it all on video." Bucky wiggled his hand from out beneath the branches and flipped her off. She laughed. "Steve, Bucky made a bad hand sign!"

"Jesus Christ," he grumbled as he lifted the tree off Bucky. "Well, it's not damaged."

"I am," Bucky grumbled rolling out from under the tree's shadow and standing up. "Think I got pine needles in my ear." He sat up, his metal arm making whirling sounds as it supported most of his weight and used his right hand to brush the pine needles off him. Steve stood there, holding the tree like a stick and offered his hand to Bucky. "You owe me," Bucky said with a grunt as Steve hauled him to his feet.

"I know, and I'm sorry" — he glanced at her with a glare — "if someone had been watching James, like they're supposed to, this wouldn't have happened."

"Oh so you're blaming me?" Natasha asked, turning the phone off and slipping it into her pocket.

"Yes! I told you he was trying to eat snow, yet you still continued to record everything and—"

"I knocked it out of his hand, Steve! And told him no!"

"He's a baby Nat, he doesn't understand no. You need to pay better attention to him when we're out doing things like this because it's dangerous!"

"I'm a good mother," she hissed, ignoring the cold prickle of fear that edged its way into her heart. "I'm a good mother," she repeated.

"Hey" — Bucky stepped in before things could get ugly, something she was thankful for — "Nat, Steve isn't saying you're a bad mother. Steve, relax. I'm fine, the tree's fine, and James is fine. Everything is fine. No fighting. Especially on Christmas." He smiled. "Want to set a good example for James, right?"

They looked at their son, who was sucking his lip as he watched the entire thing unfold. The wind buffeted them, and she pulled James closer to her in an attempt to shield him from the worst of it. Steve stepped closer too, instinct driving him to protect his family; she leaned into his broad chest, sighing when she felt his hand stroke her hair and him press a kiss to the crown of her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I just… I just want this to be special for him. For him to be able to see this one day."

"I know," he said, "but do you need to be recording everything? Why can't you just record the cute moments and not all the mundane stuff and disasters in between?" he asked, rubbing her shoulder. "He doesn't need to see that when he's older."

"I don't know… I just… I want to capture everything about today and tomorrow… so he can remember." She pressed her head to his chest, smiling at the sound of his heartbeat. Steve wrapped her in a one-armed hug, placing another kiss on her forehead. James squirmed, unhappy about being squished between his parents. She smiled down at her son, shifting a little so he wasn't so squished, and then she looked up at Steve. "You didn't shave this morning," she said, reaching up and running her fingers along his jaw.

"Forgot." He pecked her lips. "I forget things sometimes." She arched a brow. "I do. I'm not perfect."

"I'd hate to break up the romance," Bucky said, "but Steve's holding the tree by himself and people are giving us weird looks." He picked at a rusty spot on the handle of the saw. "Unless you two care to explain that you're Black Widow and Captain America, we should get going."

"Oh, right." Steve stepped away from her, and let Bucky grabbed the base of the tree. "C'mon." He started to lead the way and she fell in behind Bucky.

"Dada forgets he's really strong," she told James, "and it's cute how he tries to act normal around civilians." James cooed, blowing spit bubbles. She smiled, kissing his nose and tugging the little cap further down his head.

* * *

One of Steve's Bing Crosby records played in the background, there was something soothing and familiar about Crosby's voice and the pop and crackle of vinyl. He had put it on shortly after they got home, while she had gone upstairs to nurse James and set him down for a nap. Steve and Bucky had gotten the Christmas tree stand and ornaments from the attic while she had done that, setting up the tree and stringing the lights. By the time she came down, Steve and Bucky were rummaging through boxes as they swapped stories of decorating Christmas trees from their youth. Everything felt warm and homely, and she smiled at Steve, who walked over and gave her a little kiss. "He's asleep," she said, leaning into him as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Good." He grabbed the baby monitor on the table and turned it on. "C'mon, I found your angels."

"I can't believe you've gotten me one every year," she said, accepting the box with eight smaller boxes inside; the Hallmark logo and the words  _keepsake_  stamped on the front of the boxes. Smiling, she picked up the one that said 2012 and opened it. Steve had been so awkward around her during Tony's Christmas party, drunk as well and she giggled remembering how he kissed her. and she teased him which resulted in him running off to the bathroom to be sick. She had gone with him to Midnight Mass that year. "Bruce was right," she said, hanging up the angel on the top branch.

"Hm?" Steve looked up, hands rummaging for another ornament. "About what?"

"Remember, how we got caught beneath some mistletoe at Tony's party — your first Christmas outta the ice — and Bruce said that couples that kiss beneath the mistletoe have prophesized to have everlasting love or get married."

"Toldja you'll get a kiss beneath some mistletoe eventually, Stevie," Bucky said. Steve laughed.

"You know, I've forgotten about that." He chuckled. "I was plastered. Thor kept shoving Asgardian mead down my throat. I don't remember much of that night honestly." He hung up the ornament and took her hand, lifting it up as the music swelled and twirled her into his chest. "But I didn't forget that kiss," he purred, eyes darkening. "You said you could make me go ho ho ho, if I remember right."

A blush colored her cheeks and a girlish smile spread across her face. "Yeah." The easy smile on his face made her heart flutter and the spark of desire that she hadn't felt since before she got pregnant blossomed. Steve was handsome in a way she could only describe as scruffy elegance. "I remember," she said, "you looked torn between arousal and being sick."

He tossed his head back with a laugh. "That's because I was!" He pulled her into a hug. "James is asleep, Bucky can finish up the tree" — his fingers slipped beneath her shirt — "why don't you and I go upstairs and see if you can make go ho ho ho after all?"

"Steve…" she felt her cheeks grow hotter. Bucky coughed, and she tried to take a step back from her husband, but he had linked his fingers together, caging her in his strong arms. "We have a guest."

A devilish glint sparked in his eyes and he leaned closer, his lips brushing against her ear and he whispered, "I'll be quiet if you promised to be quiet."

" _Steven!_ " she squealed — what had gotten into him all of the sudden — smacking his chest and trying to break free. He had other plans, she soon discovered, as he pulled her flushed to his chest and lifted her up as she kicked her legs and held onto his hands to keep herself from slipping.

"Get a room you two," Bucky said, as he hung up the little collection of ornaments he gathered on his fingers, "don't need to see you making baby number two."

"Not a bad idea," Steve said, nipping her ear. "Mam always said if you want more kids have them close together."

"Steve, James is only six months!" And I'm not ready to think about having another baby, I don't think I can handle more miscarriages. "It's too early to think about having more kids. I don't think I can get pregnant while breastfeeding anyway."

"Always can put it to the test," he said, sucking on her neck. She arched into his chest, a soft shuddering moan escaped her throat, which he kissed until she was sighing in contentment in his arms.

"Seriously, though" — Bucky gave them a look — "get a room."

"Didn't you say something about gingerbread?" she asked, trying to pry his fingers open so she could get free. He let her go, giving her ass a little smack. She shot him a glare but he waggled his brows and smirked at her.

"And yeah," he said, stretching. "I did. I should make that now, so James can see it."

"You know he'll probably try and eat it," Bucky said, he stepped back and surveyed his handy work. "I left you a spot for your angels, Nat."

"Thanks," she said and picked up another angel as Bucky went to sit on the couch and Steve drifted off into the kitchen to make the gingerbread (she could hear him whistling along to the record). She remembered the Christmases as she hung up the angels: the Christmas she went tree hunting with Steve and he stood between her and Rumlow. It was then that she realized that she was falling in love with him. The following Christmas Steve told her he loved her, and they started dating (that angel was one of her favorites as it held a star over its head). The next Christmas they got married and Bucky came back to them. Peggy died the next Christmas season; she stood by his side, supporting him through this difficult moment and he later came to her and broached the subject of starting a family. The last three angels in her hand were beautiful and sad, remembering the childless Christmases and the pain of trying to just carry a baby to term; still she hung them up with care. The final angel from last year was holding a baby. James hadn't been born yet, but the sentiment was still there, and she hung it up on the awaiting branch. "All that's left is the star."

"You gonna have James put it on?" Bucky asked. She looked over and noticed he was still wearing his coat from tree hunting; she arched a brow.

"Aren't you warm?"

"Do you want your eyes accosted by that horrid sweater Stark shoved me in?" he arched a brow. Steve started to sing along to the record.

"Its not that bad," she said, sitting down next to him. "At least not as bad as Steve's singing." She giggled as Steve failed to hit a high note.

"I heard that!" Steve shouted.

"You aren't winning any Grammys this year, honey!" she teased. "And yeah, we're going to let James put the star on… or rather Steve is going to hold him and guide his hand." She pulled her phone out and grinned. "And I'm gonna capture it on video."

"Why don't you let me do it and you help Steve hold James?"

"Not a bad idea," she said. "Can I ask you something?" she asked.

"Just did." She frowned, and he laughed. "Go ahead, Natalia."

"Back… back before the ice… did Steve want a large family?" she looked over at Steve, who was swaying his hips to the music as he sang and baked. She tried to image what he was like before the ice, how much was the Steve of the past different from the Steve of the present. He didn't like talking about what he hoped for before the ice and she never pressed him. Still, she wondered.

"I don't know," Bucky said. "To be honest, I never asked. Steve just never seemed… really interested in the ladies. Not that he was a bugger but… he just seemed caught up in his own life. I guess he didn't think it was important, with the war going on in Europe and then Pearl Harbour happening… he had more pressing things to worry about."

"So, he didn't want a family?" she asked. "Makes sense, he seemed reluctant and a bit shocked that I wanted a child."

"I… I think before the serum he felt he could never have it, nor did he want to subject his future children to his health problems but then everything changed when he met Peggy. I think it was then he realized that he wanted a family, a home, a sense of stability." Bucky frowned. "Why?"

"Я не думаю, что я могу иметь больше детей." The carpet needed to be vacuumed she realized as she stared down at it, counting the pine needles and the flecks of dirt. "И если Стив действительно хочет больше детей ... Я не знаю, как скажу ему, что больше не могу иметь."

"Natalia," Bucky whispered and pulled her into a hug. "You need to talk to him about this, maybe not now, but definitely soon. Maybe after Christmas."

"Okay." She wiped at her eyes, refusing to cry over this. The smells of ginger and cinnamon, clovers and nutmeg, sugar and molasses filled the house mingling with the alpine scent of the pine tree. It smelled like Christmas and sounded like Christmas with Christmas songs from the 30s and 40s weaving they way around everything, Steve's tenor adding to the sense this was right. "I just want him to be happy, Bucky. He deserves to be happy, to have what he always wanted."

"Nat" — Bucky leaned closer to her, putting a hand on her shoulder — "Steve  _is_  happy. He has you, he has me, he has James. This" — he waved his hand around at their home — "this is what he wanted. This bliss. Don't sell yourself short. He looks at you and sees the universe within you." Bucky smiled. "I don't think I seen him look at Peggy like she was his everything. He looks at you like that. He loves you and he's happy."

Sighing, she stood up, going into the kitchen. She ran her hand along Steve's back until he looked at her.

"Hey." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "What's up? What were you and Bucky talking about?"

You. Children. My own sense that I'm inadequate. "Nothing," she said, kissing his cheek. "I love you."

He blinked, an easy smile appearing on his face. "I love you too, Nat." He watched her as she took his hand and licked the gingerbread dough off his finger. "Well?" he asked, his voice taking on a husky note.

"Spicy." She smirked, watching the muscles in his through tighten with a swallow. "Steve, I'm—" she gasped when he kissed her, and her opened mouth gave his tongue the chance to delve into her mouth. She groaned, legs going weak as he kissed her until it was the only thing she could think about. Chest rising and falling with the need for breath, she stared at him into his lust darken eyes when he finally let her come up for air. "Steve?" she asked. He grabbed a kitchen towel an wiped his hands before scooping her up.

"Buck, check the gingerbread in about twenty minutes," he said, as he carried her out of the kitchen. "And check on James."

"Steve…" she whispered as he walked passed the couch, her cheeks pink and hot.

"Have fun you two, don't be too loud," Bucky said.

She muttered something in Russian, hiding her face in the crook of Steve's neck. "Wouldn't dream of it," Steve said. "Right, Nat?"

"Боже мой!" She smacked his chest. "Just take me to bed."

"As you wish."

* * *

Steve had worshipped her body and it was difficult keeping her vocalizations to a minimum (her cheeks hurt from biting them so hard). Afterwards, they napped until James woke up. She got up to take care of him — changing and nursing him — before meeting Steve downstairs to put the star on top. James cooed, fascinated with the decorated tree and how high Steve lifted him. She smiled, one hand on Steve's shoulder an the other on James' little hip as Steve helped him put the star on. Bucky recorded the entire thing. Steve set James in his playpen and went to finish baking the gingerbread house parts and start making the icing. She went upstairs and wrapped presents.

When she came back down Frank Sinatra was crooning through the house (it was after Steve's time, but he liked it all the same). "Where's my baby?" she asked, walking around the living room with her phone. "Where is he?" she asked, her voice high and cutesy. James was sitting in front of the tree, his stuffed elephant in one hand, a branch in another. He kept trying to pull himself up right, but the shaking of the tree kept spooking him. Still, her son was nothing but determined and she watched as the tree wobbled dangerously, the ornaments shaking with each tug. "What are you doing baby?" she cooed, as she sat down on the floor. James abandoned the tree to crawl over to her with a gurgle. "Little stinker" — she kissed the top of his head, reveling in the smell of his baby newness — "are you trying to wreck the tree?" she asked, as James crawled into her lap. She smiled, wrapping her arm around James' tummy. The baby cooed, sticking his elephant's ear into his mouth. "I thought your daddy was supposed to be watching you, while I wrapped presents, hmm? That was his anniversary gift to me this year. Do you know where he is?" she asked. "And what about your Uncle Bucky?" James looked at her with bright blue eyes, a little smile appear and drool oozing down the elephant's ear. "Where's Dada?" she asked, smoothing his fine red hair and placing a kiss on the crown of his head.

"He's in the kitchen, Nat," Bucky said as he walked out of the kitchen with a glass of milk. "Hey."

"Who was supposed to be watching James?" She gave Bucky a dangerous smile. He swallowed.

"I just uh… went to get some milk…" he muttered. "I was gone for a few seconds, I swear!" He swallowed. "Steve and I both have enhanced hearing! We were listening for him."

"Where's Steve?" she asked, smoothing James' soft red hair.

"In the kitchen."

"Thanks." She gave Bucky a serene smile. "Well" — she scooped James up onto her hip as she stood in one fluid motion — "shall we go say hi to Dada?"

"Hi," James chirped, giggling at his own little word. She smiled, kissing James cheek as she tapped the phone screen to get it the camera to go to selfie mode.

"This is your punishment, Steve. You said I could have the afternoon to wrap presents, but what do I fine? Your son trying to pull down the tree." She kissed James' cheek again and tapped the screen to get the camera to face the other direction. The kitchen smelled of gingerbread, and baked apples. The smells remaindered her of home.

Steve was sitting the table, hunched over a half constructed gingerbread house. James squirmed in her arms, squealing in delight at the sight of his father. Steve looked up. His hair had gotten a bit longer, more like how he had it when they first met on the deck of the helicarrier all those years ago. He had rolled the sleeves of his blue button-down shirt to the elbows and white icing caked his fingertips (he even managed to get some on his nose). Around him were bags of candy: gum drops, gummy bears, candy canes and peppermint circles, chocolate chips and rainbow sprinkles. He looked up, a flummoxed expression on his face, a pastry bag bulging with icing in his hands. "Uh… hi honey."

"What happened to watching James?" she asked, walking over to him and setting their son in his lap. He made a face, setting the bag of icing to the side. James giggled as Steve bounced him on his knee.

"Uh… I was?" he looked at her.

"Then you can explain to me why  _your_  son was trying to pull down the tree," she said. Steve's mouth worked, but no sound came out and James looked up at him with that mischievous baby grin as he gummed his elephant's ear. "Well?"

"I uh… I was busy." He hung his head. "Making the gingerbread house for James."

"Uh-huh." She folded her arms, smirking. This was too fun sometimes, drawing it out of him. She arched both brows. James dropped his elephant, gurgling in surprised.

Steve let out a great big sigh, kissing James' head. "I was making it more for myself."

"Ah." She watched as James reached for the gingerbread house his father was working on. His little hand landed in some half-set icing and he kicked his legs in delight after he stuck his messy hand into his mouth.

"Oh, c'mon Nat!" his head jerked up. "I never got to make a gingerbread house when I was a kid! So… I thought well… it may be fun to" — James kept reaching for the icing — "to make a gingerbread house."

She nodded, understanding. "Okay, but you said you'd watch James." James made a soft whine, pulling against his father's grip in his effort to get onto the table.

"I was listening to him, and Bucky was in the living room."

"I was just getting some milk!" Bucky shouted from the aforementioned room.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Steve, I know you wanted to build a gingerbread house for James, but you said you'd watch him while I wrapped presents." James wriggled his way out of Steve's grip and onto the table. He grabbed the side and yanked part of it off and sucked on the icing.

"I'm sorry, Nat," he said. James gurgled, and Steve swore softly. The house was ruined, the half-finished roof had falling into the house and a huge chunk was missing from where James had torn off his chunk. The baby was sitting by it, icing on his knees and hands, happy as a clam as he sucked on the corner of his piece. "James."

"You need to clean up your mess, Steve," she said, as she scooped up James and gave his chubby little cheek a kiss. "We have to get going to Tony's party" — she turned to James, who grinned, sucking on the corner of the part of the house he had broken off — "and you, young man, need to get cleaned up for this as well. Wanna look nice for your Uncle Tony and Auntie Pepper, right?" James cooed. Steve sighed, poking his ruined gingerbread house. Taking pity on him, she gave him a kiss. "You can make one tomorrow, and I'll watch James while you do so."

"Okay."

Smiling, she wiped the icing off his nose. "You had icing on your nose." She walked off, but not before she saw him give her a tiny smile.

* * *

James looked around, captivated by the flashing lights of New York City that zipped by far below them. The elevator climbed the floors with a soft hum, and she found herself put her weight on right leg. "Do you want me to hold him?" Steve asked, and she shook her head. He nodded, leaning against the railing of the elevator.

"Surprised JARVIS isn't playing music," Bucky said, he had his back to them and was content watching the city.

"I can if you would like Mr. Barnes," the AI said, its smooth robotic voice breaking the silence. James looked up, little face scrunched up in bewilderment as he tried to locate the source of the voice. Natasha smiled, amused by James' confusion. She kissed his cheek and he looked at her, sucking on his lip.

"Nah, that's fine JARVIS. Did… uh… that thing I asked about—"

"I've taken care of it," JARVIS said, and the AI fell silent allowing the elevator's hum to fill the space again. James made another sound, reaching for the ceiling. She giggled, and Steve smiled, reaching a large hand over to cover James' tiny head. The baby looked at his father and grinned.

"You know, he doesn't look that bad in the sweater," he said. "Neither do you." He nudged her with his hip.

"At least they don't sing like last time," she said, returning the hip bump. They laughed softly, and he slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close.

"No, they just blink," he said. "You okay Buck?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine." Bucky nodded, waving his hand dismissively. "Just hate the sweater."

She frowned, wondering if Bucky was hiding anything, but Steve seemed to accept the reason and didn't press any further. James cooed again, reaching for the ceiling. "No, baby, JARVIS isn't going to come back unless we need him," she explained, smiling as James gurgled in frustration. She reached into the baby bag that Steve had slung over his shoulder and pulled out a teething toy and gave it to James. He stuck it in his mouth, gumming it.

The elevator chimed when the reached the top floor. The doors sighed open and Christmas music drifted through the space. James looked up as the flashing Christmas lights caught his attention. "Let me see him!" Pepper said, pushing her way through the crowd. She wore jeans and a red and white sweater with big fluffy pom-poms. "Oh, Nat he's adorable!"

Natasha laughed, handing James over to Pepper. James blinked, grabbing one of the pom-poms and turning it about in his small hand. "Thanks. The sweater isn't too bad," she said. "Merry Christmas," she added.

"Merry Christmas." Pepper settled James on her hip and gave him a little bounce. "Tony set the play pen up over there in the corner, it should be quieter. He put DUM-E in charge of it."

She and Steve glanced over and there was the faithful if absentminded robot. It perked up and made a whistling sound, opening and closing its claw. She jerked her head and Steve set the baby bag in DUM-E's awaiting claw. She took Steve's hand and lead him towards the rest of the Avengers. Pepper passed James around to everyone. Everyone cooed and oohed over him and gave her and Steve compliments about how beautiful James was. For his part, James didn't seem to be bothered by the attention. He did like Thor though, who tossed him into the air (her heart leapt into her throat at that) and declared James to be as stalwart as his father. James giggled and squirmed until Thor tossed him a few more times. She intervened and took her baby back, clutching him close and smoothing his soft hair. He cooed, leaning against her. "Where's Tony?" Steve asked.

She frowned, realizing she hadn't seen Tony yet, which was odd considering he was always one to be the center of attention. "Umm…." Pepper looked around, trying to find her husband (they had gotten married that August). Steve went over to the table and grabbed a beer and a glass of ginger ale. "I'm not sure." She smiled at them. "He'll be back soon."

"Okay." She gave a nod, accepted the ginger ale Steve handed her. "I'm going to go over there," she said, "I think James is getting a bit over whelmed." She took a sip and walked over to the window. It was quieter, the Christmas music washing over them, mixing with the cheerful chatter and laughter of their friends. Removed from the excitement James settled down, attention drawn to the city's lights again. She sipped at the fizzy ginger ale, enjoying the spicy sweet of the drink. Steve came over a bit later, his hand going to the small of her back once he was close.

"How is he?" he asked. James looked up at his father, a

"Doing fine," she said, smiling at James. The baby's head whipped around suddenly, and they followed his gaze. There, a few feet away, was Bucky with a woman. They spoke in a hushed tone, but she and Steve's hearing were enhanced beyond that of a normal human's. Still, with the city's noises coming from the window, the vent at her feet, the music and laughter she couldn't make out everything Bucky was saying. Whatever was going on, it seemed to cause Bucky great pain. Steve went over, and she followed.

"What are you doing lurking in the shadows for, Buck? Go grab a beer and mingle," Steve said, clapping his friend on the back. She was surprised Bucky jerked in shock. "Hi." Steve thrust his hand out to the woman. "Don't believe we've met. Haven't been around the Tower in a while. I'm Steve Rogers."

"She knows who you are, Steve," Bucky grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. Still the woman was polite and accepted Steve's offered hand, smiling as she shook it.

"I'm Wanda," she said. Natasha frowned, recognized the Slavic lilt to her English. "Wanda Maximoff."

"Oh, so you're the twins they found at that castle," Natasha said. "I'm Natasha."

"Yes," Wanda said, "Bucky has told me much about you and Steve. It's good to finally put a face to the name."

"Well, it's… been a while since I've been to the Tower. Still technically on maternity leave, but sometimes I'm needed." She bounced James.

"Is he yours?" Wanda asked, holding out her arms. Natasha smiled, giving James a little kiss on the cheek before handing him over to Wanda. She hummed, holding the baby close. "His thoughts are so simple."

"You're a telepath?" Natasha asked. The young woman nodded and shifted James to her hip and held out her hand and conjured a little red ball of glowing… stuff. James cooed, fascinated by the magic and reached for it.

"No little one," she said, closing her hand around the magic and dispelling it. James grumped, squirming and getting fussy over being denied something he wanted. Steve stepped in then and scooped James out of Wanda's arms, bouncing him and cooing to distract him. James tried to reach for his beer bottle, but she took that from Steve which made James whine until Steve bounced him again. "I've been helping Bucky with his sister, helping to draw out her memories."

"Your sister?" Natasha frowned. Bucky looked away, turning around to stare out the window. His shoulders were tense, and he rubbed his left arm, a nervous habit she noticed he developed whenever anything coming close to his past or the life he used to have before the fall was broached.

"Is it Yvonne? Emma?" Steve asked.

"No, they died while I was… Hydra's weapon," Bucky said, not bothering to turn around. "It's Becca."

"Oh." Steve hung his head and she looked over at him, confused. "Jeez, I'm sorry Buck… I… I should've looked her up. I should've told her and—"

"Steve, it's fine. You had your own issues to deal with after the ice, you didn't need to worry about my family."

"I promised you I'd look after your sisters if anything bad happened to you." Steve nuzzled James' little head. "I should've at least looked her up." James squirmed as he gave an unhappy whimper; a tantrum was brewing. Steve gave his son a tiny smile and kissed his cheek. James wiped the kiss off. "What's wrong?"

"Becca's dying from Alzheimer's, she doesn't really remember me. Wanda helps draw the memories out. I asked Wanda to visit her today. I'm going to tomorrow to wish her a merry Christmas." Bucky sighed, looking at the city. She took a step closer to him and rubbed his arm; he gave her a sad smile.

"If you need anything Bucky —"

"Hey, what are you guys doing over here in the corner?" Tony asked, as he strutted over dressed as Santa. James cried, hiding his face against Steve's neck. "Oh hey, Jimbo, don't cry, it's just me" — Tony yanked down the fake bread and pushed the hat off his head — "just Uncle Tony." He looked over at her and grimaced. "I didn't mean to make him cry."

"I just think it's a bit too much for him and he wanted to catch Wanda's magic," she said, watching as Steve bounced James. "Steve, let me put him down for a nap." She went over and took James from him. "There, there baby." She rubbed James' back as she left the party, stopping only to scoop the baby bag up from the pen.

Inside the elevator, the noise was lessened, and James began to settle down. "Yeah, that's it baby," she said as she paced around the elevator, making shushing sounds. "You're tired and we're gonna get you down for a nap."

James hiccupped, crying wearing him out. She smiled as the elevator stopped at their floor. The doors sighed opened and she headed to the Rogers' Family suite. Inside was dark and quiet, the soft glow of the city lights the only source of illumination. She sat in the rocking chair by the window and let James nurse. "That's it little one," she whispered, pushing against the ground with the balls of her feet. James made a soft sound, putting his little hand between her breasts. She smiled, singing softly and took his hand. Her smile widened when he wrapped his fingers around her index finger. "…Баю-баюшки-баю, не ложися на краю. Придёт сереньки волчок и ухватит за бочок. Он ухватит за бочок и потащит во лесок, а там бабушка живёт и калачики печёт, и детишкам продаёт, а Ванюше так даёт," she sang as the door opened. "Steve."

"He asleep?" he whispered coming over to her. She nodded, gently pulling him away from her breast. James jerked his arm in his sleep. Steve smiled. "Here, I'll put him to bed. Tony says there's going to be dancing" — he flushed — "still don't know how to dance."

"I can show you," she said, standing up, walking with him to James' crib. Steve settled their son down and she tucked his blue elephant near him. She smiled as Steve wrapped an arm around her waist.

"I got you something," he said, pulling away from her and going to their bedroom. She frowned, following him. He met her halfway, a little box in his hand. "Merry Christmas, Natalia." He rolled his eyes, a little smile on his face. "And Happy Birthday and Happy Anniversary."

"A lot of happies in two days, huh?" she took the box with a little giggle, a smile on her face. "Thank you." She kissed him. "For everything, Steve. For being my friend, my love… my husband… my son's father."

"I should be thanking you," he said, "you… you gave me a home when I lost mine. I've been on my own since I was eighteen. I never fit in anywhere, not in the Army, not in this new time… but… but you made me feel like I belonged. You gave me a family… we built a family together and" — he sniffed, rubbing at his eyes — "that means so much to me." He grinned, eyes wet with unshed tears. "Go on open it."

She smiled, opening the box. It was an ornament, a baby's first Christmas ornament. Though this one allowed you to put a picture inside. "Oh Steve," she whispered. It was their first family photo, James was five months old and adorable. She forgot who took it — probably Bucky — James was covered in finger paint and so was Steve. She had tried to clean James up, but he had squirmed and gotten paint all over her. Somehow Bucky managed to take a photo of the three of them together, smiling and laughing while covered in finger paint. "This is perfect."

"Thought you may like it." He kissed her forehead. "Merry Christmas Nat."

"Merry Christmas, Steve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MCU (c) Marvel Studios
> 
> This story took way to long. This chapter too way to long. This was supposed to be done in December. Since it's a Christmas story. But whatever. Enjoy.
> 
> I'll now resume working on And We Run.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.

**Author's Note:**

> MCU (c) Marvel
> 
> Keepsake Ornaments (c) Hallmark 
> 
> This is the first of my Christmas special fic. It ties in with The Little Things in Life. It's loosely inspired by Hallmark Keepsake ornaments and it got long. There are six more Christmases that need to be discovered.
> 
> The Clark Gable thing is a nod to Captain America: White.
> 
> I've seen the A4 trailer, no spoilers in the comments, please and thank you.
> 
> Hodur and Bladr are from Norse mythology, Bladr was supposed to be in Thor, but got cut because it was just too much. So, I made Hodur and Bladr Thor's cousins.
> 
> The closest thing I could get to a Viking Christmas was Yule. Yule Goats, Yule Logs and Yule Boars all come from Viking Yuletide tradition. Since Thor is very Viking… well… and the goat's name is from Norse mythology. Thor had two goats pull his chariot. He'd eat them and they'd come back the next day.
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.
> 
> PS: I work at Hallmark, yay got a job.


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